All Because of a Muggle Bookshop
by Cora DeBlaere
Summary: Years after the war, Hermione decides to leave the wizarding world. What starts as a vacation ends up being a new life with a new identity in a new country. Finding a job at a quaint bookshop, she settles into her new muggle life, leaving her old life as Hermione Granger behind. That is until a certain familiar blonde wanders in. Why is Malfoy living like a Muggle?
1. Exhaustion

There were many reasons why Hermione Jean Granger decided to abandon the wizard world after the war. Many good reasons, and a few cowardly ones. But they were reasons, nonetheless. Hermione found herself, at a mere twenty one years old, to be exhausted. She was absolutely bone weary. That kind of exhaustion that sat deep within her bones, the kind that no amount of sleep or rest could relieve.

Hermione had spent her childhood and youth fighting a war. She had given the war everything she had- some might argue to say that she gave the best years of her life to the war. And while it was a cause worth fighting, and she would never regret fighting it- she felt like she had given all she could. She had nothing left.

Everyone lost something in the war. Family, friends, homes, innocence- and Hermione had lost it all. The war had not ended with the Battle of Hogwarts. There was much work to still be done. There was rebuilding, there was rounding up war criminals and death eaters, there were trials, the Ministry's reconstruction, locating lost loved ones, hundreds of funerals... And while life would never go back to normal, any semblance of normalcy didn't arrive for another two and a half years. It wasn't for two and a half years that the ministry declared the war finally over, and the wizarding world was finally able to release a collective breath of relief. Most, if not all, death eaters had been rounded up, tried, convicted, and sentenced. The dead were buried. Hogwarts was reconstructed, and school reconvened. The ministry had been depleted of most-definitely not all- corruption, and life began again.

Hermione did not return to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She took her remaining tests and passed with flying colors, and opted out for finishing her schooling. Although the decision to forego returning and finishing her education officially pained her, she could not bring herself to return to the place where so many loved ones had suffered, fought, bled, and died. Harry and Ron never even finished their NEWT testing. Instead, they were sworn in to the Auror program immediately, and helped round up the remaining Death Eaters. Hermione was also offered a position as an Auror, but politely declined. She had seen enough war to last her a lifetime. She pursued potions, and was training to be a healer at St. Mungo's. She had just finished training when she decided to disappear from the wizarding world. She had thrown herself into her training, retreating farther and farther from her friends, trying to distract herself from her parent's recent death. Despite her efforts to hide and protect them, rogue death eaters had found them the very week she had planned on retrieving them from Australia. She hadn't even restored their memories. They had no idea why a madman had stormed in and murdered them in cold blood.

Ron and Hermione had started dating and eventually moved in together after the Battle of Hogwarts, but once the excitement and struggle of surviving and being on the run wore off, they began to return to their usual bickering and fighting, and their relationship had ended. They tried for a year- a year they mostly spent fighting. After a particularly nasty row, Hermione had shouted that she didn't even want to do this anymore.

She would never forget how Ron's already pale face had paled even further. "What?" he spluttered. "Mione, what do you...what do you mean?" he'd asked, his voice hushed and threatening to break.

Tears ran down her cheeks. "This was a bad idea. We never should've gotten together in the first place!" she'd cried. "We can't even stand one another! All we do is fight!"

"That's not... That's not all we do," Ron argued, quickly sobering. "We're happy...sometimes." He suddenly looked unsure of himself. "Aren't we?"

He reached out for her, and she pulled away the minute his hand touched her. "No, Ron. I...this isn't working."

"What are you saying?" Ron asked softly.

"You know what I'm saying," she'd whispered. "I'm moving out," she decided, choking on her words. "I'll be gone in the morning. You should go stay at your mother's tonight."

Ron opened and closed his mouth several times, no doubt trying to find the words to say that would fix this. "Mione, please. We can fix this. We have to. Please. I love you."

Hermione took a shuddering breath. Did she love Ron back? Most times she felt like she was only with him because it was safe. Because he was familiar, and they could seek comfort in each other. But as time went on, it had become less comforting and more contentious. He was her best friend. She had definitely fancied him at Hogwarts, but things had changed once they reached adulthood. She didn't even have anything in common with him. He ridiculed her for her bookish habits. He only wanted to talk about his Auror duties. He bragged incessantly about the criminals they captured, he reveled in the violence and excitement. He never wanted to listen to her about anything. He never asked for her input. He never asked about her day. He was in the spotlight of the media, and he ate it up. He loved the attention from the reporters of the Daily Prophet. He was constantly giving out statements and interviews, disclosing information about Hermione as well, despite her request for privacy. Her relationship with Ron was a one man show, it seemed, and the train was coming to a halt.

"But don't you love me?" he asked.

"I'll always love you, Ron. We've been best friends since first year."

He blinked. "That's not what I mean, and you know it. Are you in love with me anymore?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor as she shook her head.

He took a staggering step backwards. "Fine," he said stiffly. "I forgot that your books and your potions have always been enough for you, haven't they? What do you need me for? You always-"

"Ron," she interrupted. "Stop. Please. Don't say anything out of anger you'll regret later. Just...just go."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'll just...fine. I'll be at my mother's." And with that, he stepped into the fireplace and flooed away. That had been a year and three months ago, and their friendship had not recovered thus far. Their break up had been the highlight of the Daily Prophet- anything that happened to the Golden Trio was always big news, and Hermione was sick of it.

She woke up on her 21st birthday, feeling that familiar exhaustion resettle deep within her, and she made a decision.

"Enough," she whispered to herself. Enough.

She got up out of bed and started throwing her clothes into the suitcase she'd pulled from under her bed. Shrinking her few belongings and tossing them in the suitcase as well, she felt the first bit of peace she'd experienced since the war had even started. She penned a quick letter to Harry.

I have to get out of here. I'm going to take a holiday. I don't know how long I'll be. Please don't try and find me. I want to be alone. I'll write you once I'm feeling better. I love you, Harry. Give Ginny my love. I'll talk to you...

And with that, she was out the door. She had no idea where she was going, or when she'd be back. All she knew was that she needed to leave- leave everything. Especially the wizarding world.

As she closed her door behind her, she took a deep breath, feeling relief and maybe a little bit of fear. She didn't know where she would go, how long she'd stay there, how long she'd live in isolation from Harry and the Weasleys, or what she would do when she arrived at her location. One thing she did know, though. This was the first decision she'd made for herself since she accepted her place at Hogwarts.

It was a selfish decision, but it felt right.

She cast a notice-me-not charm as she stepped into the street, and disaparated.


	2. A New Life

**Hey guys! I have added a few things to this chapter. I feel like I was moving things too quickly. I'm just so excited to get to the part where Draco shows up! The scene has been playing over and over in my head for days. Anyway, I'd like to note that all dialogue in italics is supposed to be French. Unless they're spells. Then they're obviously latin. Anyway. So, now you know. Anyway! Enjoy. Feel free to leave a review with feedback! Constructive Criticism is always welcome!**

Morning's early rays were what woke Hermione at 7:30am. She smiled and stretched, welcoming another day. She heard the beeping of her coffee machine from the kitchen and the scent of freshly brewed coffee spurred her into action. She got out of bed, not bothering to make it up, and stepped into her favorite pair of fuzzy green house slippers. She trudged into the kitchen, pulling down a mug from the cupboard and filling it with coffee. With a great yawn, she poured a dab of cream into her mug- as always, foregoing sugar. Growing up in a household of dentists, she had never really taken to sugar.

Over the last two years that Hermione had lived in the small French town of Claremont, she had really come to enjoy coffee. Upon leaving England, she had traveled by Muggle transportation to Paris, France. It had been one of her mother's favorite places to holiday, and she had always loved the city. She ended up spending two months in Paris, where she picked up a lot of things- one being a love for coffee in the mornings. In addition to the many different kinds of tea leaves she kept in her kitchen cupboards, she kept it stocked up with coffee. It was a nice way to wake up in the morning, she had decided. It was exactly that thought which crossed her mind now as she sat curled up on her sofa, sipping her warm caffeinated beverage.

She glanced at the clock in her kitchen to see it read 7:47. With a sigh, she rose from the couch and began her morning routine. She showered, got dressed, applied a bit of makeup, and was grabbing her messenger bag and heading for the door, when she stopped.

"Silly me," she muttered, dropping her bag and going back to her bedroom. She strode quickly to her bedside dresser and opened the top drawer, reaching for her wand. Wand in hand, she strode over to the mirror. She glanced at her appearance as she raised her wand to her head. Gone were the purple bags under her eyes that had lingered for years after the war. Her cheeks had a nice healthy rose glow to them. Her long honey brown hair had grown long to her elbows—still curly, but much tamer and smoother than it had been in her youth—her face had narrowed in the last few years, and she had lost any baby fat she once had, leaving her jawline and cheek bones sharper than they ever had been. She looked much healthier than she had when she was on the run with Harry and Ron during the war, but she had never regained any weight. She lifted her wand and ran it over her body—head to toe.

_"Et Commuta Habitum,_" she muttered.

She watched as her appearance transformed.

Her curly hair darkened to a deep chocolate brown, her deep brown eyes lightening to a hazel, her nose sharpening and turning up just ever so slightly. Her thin lips rounded, becoming bigger and fuller, and her cheeks rounded. She grew two inches, her already trim frame slimming out even farther. She nodded, satisfied with her appearance. She looked completely ordinary, and felt confident that she wouldn't attract any attention. She had tried many different disguises since her departure from England before sticking with this one.

Since becoming a permanent resident of Claremont, every morning she was sure to disguise herself. She had not been able to bring herself to write Harry or Ginny—or anyone in her life—since she had arrived in France, and she did not want to be found. She had left everything behind, including her use of magic. She carried her wand with her at all times, of course—an old habit from the war she had not been able to break. But with the exception of casting protective wards over her flat and disguising her appearance so as not to be recognized, she lived a relatively magic-free life. In her new, Muggle life in France, she was no longer Hermione Granger, witch and war hero. She was twenty three year old Joan Spinner, born and raised in Hertfordshire, England, who had moved to Paris after her parents had died, and found her way to Claremont.

She pulled her hair back into a bun at the back of her head, satisfied that no one who looked at her would ever suspect her of being Hermione Granger. She tucked her wand into a pocket of her messenger bag that she had charmed to be undetectable to anyone but herself, strapped her bag over her shoulder, and headed out the door. Wrapping a scarf around her neck and locking the door behind her, she set out for her ten minute long walk to work.

It was a cold, drizzly day in February, and she tugged her oversized knit sweater tighter around her body. Despite getting a bit wet, she smiled to herself as she walked down the cobbled streets of Claremont. Ten or so minutes later, she turned the corner and arrived at _Le Poète Somnolent_. It translated to _The Drowsy Poet_. It was a tiny bookstore that wrapped around a corner on a slow side of town. It was a two story store, with a beautiful winding oak staircase and rows upon rows of bookshelves. There were two large windows at the front of the store, and the rest of the walls were covered from the ceiling to floor in bookshelves. They carried every kind of book you could possibly want, and Hermione loved to work there. She often found herself spending hours and hours of time there, even when she wasn't working, always comforted by the smell of old books and paper. There was a small café at the front of the store with a tiny patio that extended outside. The bell tinkled above her as she entered the shop.

"Ah, Joan, my favorite employee," Marion greeted in thickly accented English. Marion was a tiny old lady who had owned The Drowsy Poet for over thirty five years. She had helped Hermione improve her French, and she had taken to the language easily. She spoke it almost as easily as her native English.

_"Bonjour, Marion,"_ Hermione—Joan replied. "Updating the display case again, I see? _Is Florence here yet?_" she asked in French.

At this, Marion rolled her eyes. _"Of course not,"_ she replied in her native tongue. _"That would mean she arrived on time! You know my granddaughter. Always late, always dawdling and dreaming, that one."_

Hermione laughed. _"She's young,"_ she defended. _"I'm sure she'll be here soon enough. She's never—"_

She was interrupted by the doorbell tinkling once more. _"Sorry I'm late, Grandmere!"_ came a light voice from the door. Florence appeared moments later, rushing towards the café and turning on all the machines.

_"I would expect nothing less,"_ Marion murmured with a smile. As Florence and Hermione both hung their scarves, bags, and hats on the coat rack, they exchanged greetings. _"I am so sick of this rain!"_ Florence lamented.

Hermione smiled to herself. _"I rather like it,"_ she admitted. "Ah," Florence said with a knowing smile as she shook out her long black hair. "_Reminds you of home, doesn't it?"_

Hermione thought of those cloudy rainy days at Hogwarts, of staring out the window of the Gryffindor common room. "_Yes it does,"_ she said with a sigh.

As Marion turned over the open sign at the front door, she shook off thoughts of her past and prepared herself for another day.

The day passed slowly, as most of her days did. Customers came in, regulars visited, at lunch time the cafe was packed, and there was always books to be re-shelved. Hermione worked until close, as she did most days. On her lunch break, she strolled through the streets, observing the crowds come and go. She enjoyed watching other people, seeing as she kept her own personal interactions rather limited. She didn't really have friends outside of her work-unless you wanted to count her neighbor, Trina, who had exchanged breakfast croissant recipes with her a few times. But if Hermione was honest with herself, that probably didn't count as a friendship. Certainly not the kind of friendship she had had with Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

Although she had moments where she was lonely, she enjoyed living a slow and quiet life. After all, this is what she wanted. It is why she had run away and cut off all ties with the people in her life. She had even warded her flat so that she couldn't receive owls. She had run away and shut herself away from the world.

Yes, any loneliness she experienced was self-induced, so she couldn't really complain.

Soon enough, it was nearing closing time. As she sorted through the list of purchases that had been made that day, noting any books they needed to re-order, Florence left and Marion announced there were thirty minutes left until they would be ready to lock up the store. They finished sorting and organizing before walking out of the store together.

The cold February air greeted her as she walked out the door. She turned, watching Marion lock up the door behind her. _"Any exciting plans for this weekend, Joan?"_ Marion asked.

Hermione laughed. _"Not really,"_ she confessed. _"I'll probably just be reading that book. You know, the one our book club is working on?"_

_The Drowsy Poet_ held book club meetings every Friday afternoon. There was a small group of about eight or nine people who regularly attended, and Hermione led the group. It was the highlight of her week. She really enjoyed discussing literature with others, and was always interested in what kinds of insight they had to share. They were currently reading a war novel, set in World War II. Hermione had struggled with reading this book, because it hit a little too close to home. Although the Wizarding War was very different than World War II, the themes of loss and preservation were very much alike. What was it that American author, Anthony Swofford, said? _Every war is different. Every war is the same._

Marion laughed-it was a warm, friendly, comforting sound. _"Joan, my dear, you are so young! Surely you aim for higher things than sitting at home with your books? Don't you ever want the company of friends? Of a man?"_ she asked, her gray eyebrows raising suggestively.

Hermione laughed at this. _"I may be young, Marion, but I sure feel old. I'm quite content with my books," _she admitted.

Marion nodded understandingly. _"I did not mean to criticize."_

_"No, it's alright," _Hermione assured her.

Marion finished locking up, and turned around, looking up at the night sky. _"Let us hope it does not snow tonight, yes?"_ she said. _"I will see you tomorrow, Joan. Be safe!"_

_"I will,_" Hermione promised, turning to leave. _"See you tomorrow!"_

Later that night, when Hermione was in bed reading The Drowsy Poet's latest book arrival, she had a moment where she stopped and realized how much she missed her friends and family. She was very content with her life here in France, she loved her life. But as she turned out the light and pulled the covers up to her chin, her last thought before the waves of sleep washed over her was how much she missed the world of magic. She longed for something or someone familiar in her life. And with a sigh, she was whisked away into slumber.


	3. On A Snowy Day

**Here it is! So exciting! Again, all italicized dialogue is in French.**

It started out as a perfectly normal Wednesday. It had snowed the night before, as was common for mid-February. Hermione had arrived at work, the morning rush of customers had come and gone, and there were only a few stragglers from the morning left by the time afternoon rolled around. Florence had begged for an early lunch break to meet with her latest boyfriend—to Marion's dismay.

Soon after Florence's departure, Hermione was re-shelving books when Marion announced she was going to the bank.

_"Can you watch the store for me for an hour?"_ Marion asked in rapid French.

Hermione looked up from the shelf. "Of course," she replied.

_"Thank you, Joan. I don't know what I would do without you," she said. _

Hermione warmed inside. _"Oh , it's…it's nothing," _she mumbled through a shy smile.

_"I'll be back in an hour, darling,"_ Marion called, walking to the door as Hermione turned back to the shelf. The door bell jingled and a masculine voice rang out.

"Oh pardon me! I'm sorry! Are you alright?" he said in British English. "I didn't mean to bump into you!"

Hermione heard Marion's laughter. "Oh dear boy, you're quite alright," she replied back, also in English.

The door soon closed, and a pair of footsteps faded across the store as silence soon settled once again.

Hermione loved quiet moments like these. She had enjoyed the challenge of training as a healer at St. Mungo's, but there was a peace she felt at working in a bookshop that she hadn't found anywhere else but the Hogwarts library. With a sigh of contentment, she re-shelved the last book and stood, wandering through the rows of bookshelves.

She made her way to the counter, humming softly as she went, and began looking through the list of new arrivals scheduled for the following week.

She was startled by someone clearing their throat in front of her, and she dropped the list she was holding. _"One moment,"_ she said, bending down to pick up the papers.

"Oh," came a British drawl that sounded vaguely familiar to her. "Sorry to bother you, but I was hoping maybe you could help me find something."

All Hermione could think in the split second before she stood up was _where have I heard that voice before?_

Her eyes panned up, time slowed down, and when Hermione's eyes met the gentleman's gray ones, she froze. She literally couldn't move. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she forgot how to breathe.

There, before her very eyes, on the other side of the counter in her safe haven—her bookshop, her new home—stood Draco Malfoy.

He continued on, completely unaware of the paralyzing fear that Hermione Granger was suffering.

"I came across a book I rather enjoyed last week, and I'm afraid I…" he trailed off, squinting his eyes slightly, his eyebrows pinching together as he recognized that something seemed to be wrong. "Are you…"

_Oh gods, sweet Circe,_ Hermione thought. _He recognizes me, he knows who I am. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy is here, the bloody ferret has found me._ Her thoughts were racing at a million miles an hour, almost as fast as her heart was beating. Flashes of Malfoy at the court of the Wizemgot, being tried for his crimes during the war, watching helplessly as Harry testified on his behalf. Malfoy watching her from across the drawing room at Malfoy Manor also began playing through her head. Bellatrix leaned over her, evil glee glinting in her beady eyes. Bellatrix's mad cackle echoed through her ears.

_Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood…_

Malfoy took a step forward. "Hey, are you alright? You look like you're…like you don't feel well."

Hermione found herself backing away as he stepped closer, and she continued until she came into contact with the wall behind her. She heard something haggard and rapid sounding around her, and it took a second for her to realize it was coming from her—she was hyperventilating.

Malfoy stepped around the counter and approached her. "Miss? You don't look well. Do you need to sit down?"

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to still her erratic heart and calming her rapid breathing.

"Come sit down," she heard, and then there were hands on her arms, guiding her god knows where.

_Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood!_ Bellatrix's voice rang in her ears. The cursed knife was digging into her forearm as Bellatrix pinned her down with a hard grip.

Suddenly she was shaking. No, _someone_ was shaking _her._ Her eyes snapped open to find Draco Malfoy's face close to hers. His hands were on her shoulders, and he was shaking her! _Shaking her!_

_"Get off me!"_ she snapped, pulling away from him.

Malfoy's eyes widened and confusion clouded his face. "I'm sorry! You were…you were having some kind of attack. I didn't know what to do," he rambled. "I didn't mean to startle you, but you were really freaking me out. Are you sure you're alright?"

Hermione took slow, measured breaths. _"I'm…I'm fine,"_ she said in a fragile voice, making sure to speak in French, because she was not Hermione Granger, she was Joan Spinner. Joan Spinner was a French citizen, Joan Spinner spoke French. She was Joan Spinner now.

_"I'm…I…you startled me, is all. I have…I…you…"_ She swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts into words. "_You looked like someone I…someone I used to know."_

Malfoy's expression turned suspicious as he also began to speak French. _"I…I'm sorry, do I know you?"_ he asked, his pronunciation perfect as he took a step back.

She adamantly shook her head. _"No, I don't think so. You…"_ Her mind began to unscramble as she pushed her panic to the back of her head. _Focus, Hermione,_ she scolded herself. _Pull it together before you give yourself away!_

_"Non,"_ she continued in French_, "you reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago, when I was a child, but…but they're dead,"_ she lied. _"That's why you startled me,"_ she said, forcing herself to give a shaky laugh.

His expression cleared. "Oh," he said, suddenly quiet. "I'm…I'm sorry. _That couldn't have been very pleasant."_

Relief rushed through her veins, and it was like a cool breeze on a stifling hot day. He believed her. In fact, he didn't look like he suspected her of anything at all. His expression was actually a bit…_sympathetic?_ Could that really be _sympathy_ on Malfoy's face?

Malfoy looked around, somewhat uncomfortably. "I…er… I didn't mean to—" he began in English. "I mean," he sighed, before switching back to French. _"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I can go, if you wish…" _

_Wait, Malfoy spoke French? Of course Malfoy spoke French. _Coming to her senses, Hermione recovered. _"Non!"_ she cried out. "_Non, it is alright,"_ she said. _"What did you need?"_

Malfoy tilted his head to the side. _"Are you sure you are quite well?"_

_"Yes,"_ Hermione replied, _"Yes, you just gave me quite a fright,"_ she confessed.

_"My apologies,"_ Malfoy muttered, his gaze dropping awkwardly to the floor.

Hermione took a deep breath, finding herself to be calm once again. _"Now, what is it that you need? Can I help you find something?"_

Malfoy looked back up at her, offering a half smile. _"Yes, actually. I…as I said before, I read something I quite enjoyed last week, but it was only an excerpt I encountered in passing, and I have no idea who wrote it or where to find the rest of it. I was hoping maybe someone here would recognize it and be able to locate the work for me."_

Hermione blinked. She'd always known Malfoy was smart, and well-educated, probably well-read as well. He had been, after all, always merely a step behind her in marks back at Hogwarts. But why on earth would Malfoy come to a _Muggle _bookshop to find a _book?_ Surely he was in the wrong place.

_"Of course,"_ she replied. _"I'm sure we can help you find something. No one knows this bookstore better than me. Well, other than Marion, the owner. Probably. She's been here for much longer than I have. But…"_ She was rambling. She was nervous. She needed to help Malfoy find what he needed so he could get out of here and she could get back to her regular day. She took a deep breath. _"Can you tell me more about the excerpt?"_

He nodded, looking relieved. _"I have it here…"_ He began rummaging through the pockets of his wool jacket for something.

_Wait a second, Malfoy was wearing Muggle clothes! _Hermione took a moment to observe him and tried to keep her jaw from coming unhinged. He was wearing black slacks, a blue, collared, button up oxford dress shirt, and a black wool jacket. He had a dark blue scarf hanging around his neck. His hair was no longer gelled back against his head like it had been at school, and instead was worn loosely and had a purposefully messy look. He looked very well put together, very neat, very nice. In fact he looked handsome—the realization made Hermione cringe.

He looked much healthier than he had the last time she had seen him—which had been at his court hearing. If she remembered correctly, he had been pardoned for his crimes and put under house arrest with his mother for one year. He had been forced to do some kind of service work, although she couldn't remember what, or for how long. It couldn't have been too long, seeing as he was here in France now. Speaking of, why was Malfoy in France? Why was he in _Muggle Claremont, _of all places?

Suddenly she realized Malfoy was staring at her, holding out a folded piece of notebook paper. _Notebook paper!_ She shook her head and forced a smile, accepting the paper from his hand. She unfolded it and turned her eyes down to its contents. It was a lengthy quote, scribbled out in slanted, neat writing. She squinted, her confusion growing.

_"This is…this is Hermann Broch,"_ she observed, looking up at him.

_"You recognize it?"_ he asked, looking relieved. _"I've gone to two other shops, looking for this. You're the first person to recognize it. Thank you."_

She frowned. _"You've gone to two other M…" _she stopped before she muttered the word _Muggle._ _"You've gone to two other shops looking for this? The Sleepwalkers?"_

_"The Sleepwalkers. Is that the name of the book?" _he asked, looking excited.

_"Yes," _she replied, infinitely perplexed. _"Where did you find this?"_ she asked.

_"I came across the quote in passing. I wrote down what I could. Who did you say wrote this again? Hermann Brooch?"_

She couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled out of her mouth. "_Broch," _she corrected. "_He was an Austrian…" _She almost let _Muggle_ slip out again. _"…An Austrian writer. He started writing The Sleepwalkers before he was arrested by the Nazis in World War II. It's about the degeneration of values, essentially. It's considered a key masterpiece of German modern literature."_

He watched her with great fascination, seeming to hang on her every word.

_"You're sure you want to read this?_" she asked in disbelief.

_"Yes, please," _he said, a bit too eagerly, before catching himself. _"I've been trying to…expand my literary preferences,"_ he explained.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. _"Alright, then. Let me find it for you."_ She turned and set out for the proper section. "Broch, Broch, Broch," she muttered aloud, scanning the shelves and trying to focus despite the countless questions running through her mind at Malfoy's perplexing behavior. _Here it is,_ she thought, finding the book and plucking it from the shelf. She spun around and smashed right into Malfoy.

_"Oh!"_

_"Pardon me," _he muttered, reaching out to stabilize her.

She looked up at him and felt her breath catch once again, but for a different reason. Malfoy really was a handsome man. Well, he had always been handsome, but...

Catching her expression, he offered her a rakish grin, and this shook her out of her reverie. She pulled away, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

"Er… _here is your book,"_ she said, handing him the book.

He took it in his hands, his eyes wandering over the cover before looking back at her with another smile. _"Thank you,"_ he told her, and he sounded earnest.

Shaking off her confusion, Hermione led him to the cash register. She rang him up for his purchase and rattled off the price.

He scrambled to produce the correct amount of cash, and she tried to hide her smile as he counted and recounted the proper amount of Muggle money to buy his book.

He offered her the payment with a smug little smile, and she couldn't help but find amusement in the pride he took in delving out correct amounts of Muggle money.

She put his book in a bag and handed it to him. _"Thank you for coming in, I hope you enjoy the book," _she told him.

He looked down at his purchase. _"I'm sure I will. Thank you very much for your help. I really appreciate it." _He turned to leave and hesitated, before turning back to her.

He held out his hand. _"My name is Draco, by the way."_

She stared at his extended hand. _Draco Malfoy was offering his hand to a muggle bookshop girl? What had this world come to? _

She looked up at him, blinking in confusion. He seemed to lose confidence, and his hand drooped slightly. Realizing she was being rude, she reached out and shook his hand. _"Joan,"_ she replied.

He nodded, lowering his hand. He did not, as she would have expected him to, wipe his hand on his jacket or appear disgusted in any way. What happened to his sense of pureblood supremacy?

He cleared his throat. _"Thank you for your assistance, Joan. See you later."_

And with that, he wrapped his scarf around his neck, turned, and left the shop.

Shaking her head at the strange turn of events, she couldn't help but think, _I sure hope not._

The farther she remained from Malfoy, the better.


	4. Of Wars and Book Clubs

A week had passed, and Hermione was starting to feel confident that her encounter with Draco Malfoy had been a one-time experience. All week she had been apprehensive, jumping every time the bell above the door tinkled. All week she had kept her eyes peeled, watching for the tall, well dressed, blonde, former death eater. But she hadn't seen him, not once. And as the week continued, she slowly slipped into her regular feeling of contentment. Surely he was visiting Claremont briefly, she had decided, and by now he had returned to wherever it was he lived. _And good riddance,_ she'd concluded.

It was now Thursday, and Florence was regaling Hermione with the tales of her latest boyfriend drama as she swept the tile café floor. Hermione listened to the nineteen year-old girl with an amused smile on her face.

_"__I mean it, Joan,"_ she said in earnest. _"I have sworn off dating artists. Maybe I will swear off dating men at all."_

Hermione chuckled at this. _"Why do I have the feeling that you'll change your mind by this time next week?" _she teased.

Florence shook her head. _"Non!" _she denied. _"After Henry, I really think that I am done. I don't even want to date anymore,"_ she decided aloud.

Another laugh burst from Hermione's mouth. _"Oh, Florence. I hardly think that's an appropriate reaction. What Henry did was terrible, but at least you found out he was married relatively early on. At least it wasn't six months, a year, two years down the road."_

Florence paused in her sweeping. _"Does dating ever get any easier as you get older?"_ she asked.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. _"Well, I wouldn't really know. I don't date much. But I would assume it gets…" _She shrugged. _"Maybe it gets easier to date, but I doubt dating ever changes. It's all the same, isn't it?"_

Florence clicked her tongue. _"Joan, you're a beautiful woman. Why don't you have, like, three boyfriends?"_

Hermione rolled her eyes. _"I just have no desire to date right now."_

_"__So how long has it been?"_ Florence asked, her right eyebrow arching.

Hermione's cheeks reddened. _"How long has what been?" _she asked, looking around the bookstore and growing uneasy at the question.

_"__Oh, you know exactly what I'm asking. How long?"_

Hermione bit her lip. _"It's…it's been a while,"_ she admitted. _"Like I said, I don't really have any desire to date-"_

_"__Not even a one-nighter?"_ Florence asked. _"Seriously, how long? I know that you know exactly how long it's been."_

Hermione sighed. _"There was one time, right after I moved to Paris. I met this cute guy, we went to dinner, and then…"_ she trailed off, feeling her blush reach the tips of her ears. _"But that was the last time."_

Florence's eyes widened. _"But you have not lived in Paris for over two years!"_

Hermione swallowed. _"I know, Florence. I'm aware." _She couldn't prevent herself from smiling at Florence's shock.

She clicked her tongue once again, her disapproval apparent. _"We need to get you a date. Or at least get you laid."_

_"__Florence!"_ Hermione hissed. _"How would your grandmother react if she heard you speak that way?"_

At this, Florence tipped her head back and laughed. _"Grandmere is a bigger pervert than everyone in this bookstore combined!" _she chortled. _"Seriously! That woman has no shame. This is France, Joan. Paris is the city of love. We are a country of lovers. The only one who blushes at the mention of sex is _you," she teased.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Florence eyes focused on a spot just over Hermione's shoulder and they widened. _"My, my," _ she said. _"I'll tell you what, I'd be ready to lift my vow of not dating men anymore for a piece of that."_

_"__Piece of…piece of what?" _Hermione asked, slowly turning around.

_Merlin's beard, you have got to be kidding me,_ she groaned internally as she saw a familiar head of blonde hair.

_"__Not again,"_ she muttered.

Draco Malfoy had returned. He was standing by the door with his hands in the pockets of his black jacket, his eyes roving over the bookshelves before him. He rocked on his heels, appearing as if he was nervously looking for someone, before his gray eyes steeled on Hermione. Upon finding her, his face lit up and he headed towards her.

Hermione turned back to Florence. _"No way, not today, he can't possibly be…"_

_"__Joan!"_ he called out, raising a hand in greeting.

Florence's eyes found Hermione's, her mouth twisted up in a smile, looking appropriately scandalized. _"Who is that?"_ she whispered.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer the question, and found she could not. "Err…"

_"__Good afternoon, Joan," _Draco greeted, coming to stand beside her. _"I didn't even notice the café last time I was here. I must say, this is a nice little place you guys have here. I quite like it." _His eyes roamed around the café before settling on Florence, who was watching him with her mouth hanging open. He reached his hand out. _"I'm Draco," _he introduced himself. _"Pleasure to meet you."_

Grinning, Florence shook his hand, blinking prettily. _"Florence. And the pleasure is mine, I assure you."_

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Draco flashed a disarming smile before dropping his hand and turning back to Hermione. _"I was hoping I'd find you here," _he admitted. _"I finished reading that book, and I rather enjoyed it. I was hoping you could recommend some other works of his—Hermann Broch," _he recited, looking rather pleased with himself.

_"__You…you want…another…book?"_ Hermione said in disbelief. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy enjoyed Muggle Literature? Had the world turned upside down?

Draco smiled once more. _"I do,"_ he confirmed.

Hermione was still staring at him, obviously dumbfounded, and she continued to do so until Florence cleared her throat.

_"__Uh…Joan? He said he wants another book. Why don't you go…find him one?" _she suggested with a knowing smile. She looked rather smug, actually.

_"__Of course. M-"_ she cut herself off before using his last name. _Old habit._ _"Let's go find you something, Mr. Draco."_

He waved his hand at her. _"Please, just call me Draco."_

_"__Yeah, Joan," _Florence said, wiggling her eyebrows. _"Just call him Draco."_

After throwing her daggers with her eyes, Hermione turned back to him. _"Right this way,"_ she said before leading him down the aisles.

_"__So," _Hermione began, _"you really enjoyed The Sleepwalkers?"_

She couldn't see, but Draco was nodding emphatically behind her. _"I did. It was, like you said, about the degeneration of values. But I really enjoyed how Broch's characters could commit acts that were both right and wrong, and yet they were still depicted and regarded as righteous."_

Hermione stopped and glanced warily at him. He was scanning the bookshelves as he spoke.

_"__It really spoke to me, how there's always an area of gray in right and wrong. So often people do the wrong things for the right reasons. I feel like Broch put it into words eloquently." _

Hermione regarded him thoughtfully. He was so relaxed as he spoke. He was so open like this. Draco Malfoy was here, in a Muggle bookshop, speaking with someone he thought was just some Muggle girl, and he was providing some very private insight. She had a sudden rush of guilt, like she was eavesdropping into a conversation she had no right to take part in. She was deceiving him. She was Hermione Granger, and she seriously doubted he would be speaking with her like this if he recognized her for who she was.

_"__Here we are," _she said, reaching for one of Broch's other most famous works. _"Death of Virgil,"_ she announced, handing him the book. _"Virgil was a Roman poet. This book is a work of fiction, narrating the last few hours before Virgil's death. It's about the struggle of an artist, the struggle to recreate beauty and make an impact in the world. It's…why…why are you staring at me like that?"_

Malfoy was watching her intently with a lopsided smile. At her question, he shrugged. _"You're…err…you're very interesting to listen to. You get very animated," _he said, gesturing towards her face. _"I've noticed that your eyes light up when you talk about books."_

Hermione narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Where was Draco Malfoy's famous sneer? Where were his words of ridicule, his taunts and underhanded insults? _"Come on," _she said, turning to lead him to the cash register.

They were rounding a corner when she bumped into Marion. _"Oh! Marion! So sorry,"_ she apologized.

_"__Joan! I was just looking for you. Florence said we needed—ah! _The polite young Brit," she said, switching to English with a kind smile as she took note of Draco standing beside Hermione.

"_You know Draco?"_ Hermione asked.

Marion nodded. "We bumped into one another last week, didn't we? Good to see you again! I assumed you would just be passing through. We don't see a lot of Brits in these parts. Well, except for Joan. She's stayed with us for quite a while. Good thing, too! I don't know what we'd do without her!"

Hermione felt a rush of panic go through her as she saw Malfoy shift and turn to her. "You're British?" he asked, disbelieving.

Heat rose from her neck to the tip of her ears, and she looked away from him as she nodded.

"So that means you speak English," Draco said with a laugh. "This whole time I've been blundering through the French language, thinking you were French."

Hermione bit her cheek so hard she tasted the sharp metal tang of blood. "I wouldn't call it _blundering_," she muttered. Malfoy spoke French very well.

_"__Yes, Joan is a native of your country," _Marion continued._ "She has lived here for a few years now, and she speaks French so well, does she not? Sometimes I forget she is not from here, she speaks our language so beautifully. Very talented, very smart, this one. But her habit of constantly drinking tea gives her away," _she said with a wink. _"She is most definitely British."_

Malfoy regarded her thoughtfully, and the panic within her multiplied. She was done for. He was smart, and he was cunning. If anyone could put it together and figure out who she was, it was him.

"What did you say your last name was, Joan?" he asked.

"I didn't say. It's Spinner," she lied. "I'm Joan Spinner."

He shook his head. "Hm. Unusual name," he noted.

"Rather ordinary, I assure you." She gave a nervous laugh. "Anyway, Marion, we were headed to the register. What was it that you needed?"

"Ah," Marion began again in English, "Florence said someone was inquiring about your book club meeting tomorrow. They're at the register as well. They're purchasing the book—_Le Feu: Journal D'une Escouade,_ I told him. That is correct, no?"

Hermione nodded.

"By Henri Barbusse," Malfoy commented.

Both women turned to look at Malfoy. Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Was this real life? Was she dreaming? Draco Malfoy knew Muggle Literature? Where on earth had he learned about Barbusse?

"Ah!" Marion clapped her hands together in delight. "You are familiar with your French literature," she observed, looking quite pleased. "Perhaps you will join us tomorrow for our book club meeting!"

If she wasn't panicking before, Hermione was definitely panicking now. She whipped back to look at Marion, wearing an expression of absolute horror.

Marion nodded at Draco, oblivious to Hermione's discomfort. "Joan leads the book club, you know. She knows her literature quite well."

"That sounds wonderful, I'll definitely attend. When is it?" Draco looked at Hermione expectantly.

"Tomorrow at three in the afternoon," Hermione begrudgingly informed him. "If you'll excuse me for a moment," she mumbled, slipping away and walking ahead to the register, where a tall lanky man was waiting for her to inquire about the book club.

She had no sooner than finished answering his questions and handled his purchase, when Malfoy appeared again. He was wearing a smile—he even looked rather excited. _Why did Malfoy look excited?_ She hadn't seen Malfoy look excited like this since he had made the Slytherin Quidditch team second year. Well, when his father had bought his place on the quidditch team. She looked up at Malfoy in wonderment. This was clearly not the same person she had gone to school with.

"Hello, again," he said, handing her the book. She rang up his purchase and as he delved out the correct amount of money, she couldn't hold her questions back any longer.

"Why are you here?" she blurted.

He looked up at her in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, what brings you here from Britain? Are you on business, or… Do you live here permanently now?"

He handed her his money and he assumed a thoughtful expression. "Semi-permanently, I suppose you could say. I'm…taking an extended holiday at my family chateau outside Claremont."

Hermione was intrigued by this. An extended holiday? Sounded familiar. She couldn't help the small smile that crawled across her face. "Extended holiday? Hmm…"

He shrugged, looking rather sheepish. "Sometimes you just have to get away, you know?"

She studied his face, a million questions buzzing in her brain. "Yes, I do know."

He smiled at her, doing that funny stare he had been watching her with earlier.

She swallowed uncomfortably. "Well, I suppose I'll be seeing you tomorrow. At the book club meeting? You certainly seem familiar with Barbusse. You've read _Le Feu_ before?"

He nodded. "A neighbor lent it to me when I first moved here last month. It was the first piece of Mu…of er…of French literature I've read. You know, since…since arriving here, I mean…"

She bit her lip to prevent from smiling. He'd almost used the word Muggle.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Anyway, I rather enjoyed it. It was…eye-opening."

"How so?" she asked, intrigued.

"It was rather…enlightening… all that about the first World War. I had no idea what kind of conditions the soldiers had to fight in. The trenches, I mean. I had a rather…limited understanding of the World Wars," he said with a nervous laugh. "I know a bit of war, but I…" He paused, his eyes going out of focus for a moment.

Hermione recognized that look. It was the look of someone who had been at war. Once you've been to war, you never really leave. She knew all about that. It was the reason she glanced over her shoulder when she was walking home at night. It was the reason she kept her wand in the top drawer of her dresser when she slept, and in her purse during the day—even though it rarely saw much use. It was the reason she woke some mornings in a panic after a nightmare. It was the reason she had nightmares at all.

She'd never really stopped to think about how the war had affected Draco Malfoy. She wasn't so narrow minded to think he _hadn't _been affected, but regardless of what side he had fought for… War is never easy, no matter what side you're on. At this moment, seeing the haunted look in his steel gray eyes, she felt nothing but sympathy for the man.

"It's a good novel," she said softly.

Malfoy was shaken from his faraway thoughts, and nodded. "Yeah. Well, I'll err…I should probably get going, I suppose. I'll see you tomorrow, Joan. I'm looking forward to it," he said cheerily.

She chuckled. "See you then," she replied. "And me, too," she added, only realizing once he'd left, that it was the truth.


	5. Memoirs of War

Hermione had trouble falling asleep that night, knowing she would see Malfoy again the next afternoon. Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts, and she tossed and turned, unable to find peace. For one, she couldn't seem to wrap her head around the fact that Draco Malfoy had found her. Sure, he didn't recognize her and he didn't know that she was Hermione Granger—but how long would that last? It was dangerous to even be around him. If she slipped up once, she would be given away. How would he react? She was essentially lying to him, pretending to be someone else. And while she wasn't intentionally seeking out to deceive him, she doubted he would see it that way if the truth came out. What would he do? Would he be angry? Would he blow her cover? Would he contact Harry? _No way,_ she snorted. Draco Malfoy would contact Harry Potter when pigs could fly.

Draco Malfoy. My, how he had changed. She had never really given him much thought after the war. She never wondered what he was up to or how he was doing—why would she? But if she'd had to guess, she would expect him to be sitting somewhere far away, living off his family money and pouting over losing the war. She'd never have guessed that he would seek out seek out the company of muggles, endeavor to learn about Muggle Literature, or give Muggles any thought at all. He had treated her, Marion, and Florence with nothing but respect. One wouldn't think Draco Malfoy knew how to treat _anyone_ with respect—not unless it benefited him in some way.

But she had to admit that secretly, in her deepest feelings, she was somewhat relieved that he was here. This realization made her want to slap herself across the face, but it was true. Malfoy was the first familiar thing she had encountered since she'd left England. Sure, she had run away, and she had stayed away because it was easier, because it was simpler—but she'd be lying if she said it wasn't nice to see a familiar face for once.

Even if it was the face of Draco Malfoy.

Rolling over onto her side, she decided to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt. He certainly seemed to be a changed man. Surely there was no harm in allowing him to purchase books from _The Drowsy Poet_, and if he wanted to attend her book club once a week, if he wanted to learn more about Literature—fine. As long as she was careful and kept her identity protected, what was the worst that could happen?

_"__Joan! He's here!" _Florence whispered conspiratorially.

_"__Who's here?"_ Hermione replied, pretending not to know who Florence was talking about. She didn't so much as look up from her book.

She could practically feel Florence's eyes bugging out of her head.

_"__The sexy blonde man! You know the one! The one who was flirting with you yesterday!"_

Hermione looked up at her in alarm. _"Draco was not flirting with me!"_ she denied. _Gods, _did those words really just come out of her mouth?

Florence's face was smug. _"He was so. And you were flirting back," _she accused with a cheeky grin.

Hermione's jaw dropped. _"I did no such thing!"_ she defended. _"You don't even know what you're saying. Honestly, I don't know where you get such lavish ideas. We were simply-"_

"Joan!"

Hermione whipped around at the sound of Malfoy's voice. "Err…hello," she greeted. She couldn't prevent her eyes from wandering briefly down to Malfoy's chest. He was wearing an emerald green sweater that looked quite nice on him. One could even say it was Slytherin green, she realized with a smile. Goodness, had Malfoy always been so strong and fit? She had to admit, he held a lot of appeal when he was a decent human being and wasn't acting like the prat he had been in school.

Malfoy didn't notice her roaming eyes, but instead turned to greet Florence. "Hello. I'm sorry, remind me your name again. Was it Flora?"

"Florence," she said in a sultry voice, taking a step towards him.

"Ah, Florence," he said with a sheepish grin. _"So sorry. That's a lovely name."_

"_Quite alright,"_ she insisted. _"Joan here was just reminding me of your name. Draco. Such an uncommon name, but I like it. It suits you, I think. You speak beautiful French, by the way…"_ she drawled, her eyes roving up and down his body slowly.

Hermione watched in what could only be described as horror, as her coworker blatantly _flirted_ with Draco Malfoy.

Draco smirked, not even pretending to be oblivious to what she was doing. _"Thank you. It is a beautiful language. I enjoy speaking it."_

Hermione's eyes narrowed. Was she imagining things, or was Malfoy flirting back? This whole situation was making her increasingly uncomfortable. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. It was abhorrent, but she couldn't look away.

Malfoy turned back to Hermione. "Anyway," he began, looking briefly at his gleaming wrist watch, "I got here a bit early. I was wondering if you had any copies of _Le Feu_ that I could look over. I don't personally own a copy at the moment, and I was hoping to refresh my memory before the meeting."

"Um…" Hermione blinked, pulling her thoughts together. "Yes, we do have a few copies. I'll go grab you one," she decided, glancing briefly at Florence, who hadn't taken her eyes off of Draco and was toying with a strand of her long black hair in a way that could only be described as seductive. "Be right back," she announced, turning in the direction of the Historical Fiction section.

"Oh! I'll…I'll come with you," Draco said, taking hurried steps after her.

Hermione caught a glimpse of Florence's disappointed expression and couldn't help but smile just a little bit. Florence had always been boy crazy, this was nothing new—but she didn't think Florence realized just how out of her depth she was, pursuing Draco Malfoy, heart throb, former death eater and scheming Slytherin. Shaking her head slightly, she began her walk across the store.

"So how many people usually attend these things?" Draco asked. "The book club meetings, I mean."

Hermione shrugged. "Oh, attendance varies. It's generally a relatively small group, about six to seven people. Although last week we quite the turn out. There were about eleven people attending, not including myself. We almost ran out of chairs."

"Huh."

They arrived at the proper shelf and Hermione handed him the book. "Here you are."

"And you've read this book?" Draco asked.

Hermione bit her lip. "Most of it. I haven't managed to finish it quite yet," she bashfully admitted.

Malfoy's blonde eyebrows raised. "But it's _your _club. How are you going to lead the discussion if you haven't finished it?" he asked.

"Well, we take it in chapters. We're discussing chapters fourteen through nineteen today. I just managed to finish chapter nineteen on Tuesday."

Draco's head tilted to the side slightly. "I wouldn't think you're the kind of girl to take an extended period of time to finish a book."

Hermione's cheeks warmed. "Usually, it's very easy for me. But…war novels are…they're not my favorite," she said with a shrug.

"Hmm. What… If you don't mind me asking—what don't you like about them? Or what do you _dislike_ about them?"

Hermione looked up at him. He wore an earnest expression, and his grey eyes were so open and sincere, it made her squirm a bit. She sighed. "I think oftentimes, people romanticize war. And the truth is, there's nothing romantic about war. War is… War is a horrible, terrible thing. No matter where it is, or who is fighting it, it leaves disaster in its wake. _Le Feu_ is a brutally honest retelling of experiences in the trenches, and its…its brutal, raw honesty is… I find it a bit unsettling, if I'm completely honest. I don't like lingering on those thoughts. I can read anything—technical writing, fiction, non-fiction, poetry, fantasy—but war novels… They're not my thing."

Draco nodded, looking thoughtful. "I understand that. I understand that perfectly. Did you choose this book for the club?"

She shook her head. "I picked most of the books at the beginning, when we first started the club, but then I gave the group the option of suggesting their own books. They made a list, and this was on it. So here we are," she said with a nervous laugh.

"Well I think that's a wonderful idea. I'm…" he chuckled. "I'm rather excited for this whole book club meeting. Is that silly?" he asked, his nose wrinkling.

Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. "No, I think it's wonderful that you enjoy reading and learning about new literature as much as you seem to. It's wonderful. Reading is one of the most powerful ways to broaden your perspective on life. I think it's quite admirable that you're expanding your literary preferences, as you said."

Draco grinned. "Thanks," he said softly. "Speaking of literature—I started _Death of Virgil_ last night. It's quite good so far. Thank you for finding it for me. I'm…I'm impressed with your extensive knowledge and love for books. It's a rare quality to encounter. I uh…" he chuckled. "It's a good quality to have."

Hermione tucked some stray curls behind her ear and shrugged. "It's what I'm here for, you really don't have to thank me."

Draco shrugged. "All the same, though…"

Hermione found herself staring up at him, and found him staring back. She bit her lip and ducked her head, suddenly feeling shy for some reason. "Well, we should…err…the meeting will start soon," she reminded him, breaking them from their reverie. "I'm going to go set up. Feel free to sit down for a cup of tea while you wait for everyone to get here."

"Alright," he agreed. "I've got some reviewing to do," he announced, holding up_ Le Feu. _He threw her a smile over his shoulder as he began walking back to the café.

Hermione watched him go, powerless to notice how well his gray slacks fit him… Realizing what she was doing, she shook her head. _Snap out of it!_ She berated herself before turning to go set up some chairs and the small display for _Le Feu._

_"__So now that we have gone over the last few chapters," _Hermione addressed the group after they had briefly summarized the highlighted chapter of _Le Feu_ from this week._ "I have a few things I would like to discuss, but first, let's hear from you guys. What is something that stood out to you in these chapters?"_

Hermione was pleased to see that almost immediately, three hands rose.

_"__How about you, Edgar?" _she called on the elderly man sitting in the front row. She happened to know that _Le Feu_ was one of his favorite books. He always enjoyed historical fiction and war novels—he had a lot of pride for his country, and he loved to read about it.

Edgar was a kind, balding old man with shaking, liver-spotted hands, and he attended the book club meeting every single week. He cleared his throat, looking straight at Hermione. _"Well, in chapter fourteen, the squad is camping overnight in a large barn, and they realize they're about to encounter some difficult circumstances. I believe they say they're going to encounter 'a hot time of it.'"_

Hermione nodded encouragingly.

_"__Volpatte and the men go over a bit of inventory and discuss what kinds of things they carry in their pockets, and they debate how best to pack for the road ahead of them. It comes to attention that everything provided them by the military is of low quality. These items are virtually worthless; they can't help them in any way. They're ugly, broken, low quality items, but they're the only worldly things the soldiers own."_

Murmurs of agreement went through the group.

_"__And although they know these worthless items will only slow them down on the journey ahead, none of the men are willing to part with their items, because they are treasures to the men. In this terrible world, where the men have nothing, and are dying left and right, these worthless items are all the men have."_

The members of club nodded and murmured amongst themselves.

_"__Thank you, Edgar. And yes, this is true," _Hermione began. "_It really reminds us how desperate these soldiers are, how lonely, how hard the conditions of their lives are, that they cling to these small minuscule things for comfort. It carries a theme of loss and survival—humanity's desire to hold to what little we can in times of struggle. Thank you for making that point, Edgar."_

A middle-aged woman with soft blonde hair raised her hand next.

_"__Yes, Amelia?"_ Hermione called on her.

Amelia gave a shy smile as she glanced around the group. _"I thought it was sweet how Paradis took such great pride in cleaning that old woman's daughter's shoes. It said he went to sleep that night with a smile on his face, yes?"_

More approving murmurs went around. Hermione nodded. _"He took such great pride in doing such a small act of kindness for the woman. I'd imagine he found great reward in doing a service that didn't hurt anyone. He was a soldier, he was serving his country, but death follows a soldier anywhere he goes in war. This small act of polishing shoes, it was such a tiny, harmless act for Paradis to do. Thank you. Anyone else?"_

Malfoy looked around, almost self-consciously, then bit his lip as if in a debate with himself.

"Draco?" Hermione called. "Was there something you would like to share with us?"

He cleared his throat, and the group all simultaneously turned to look at the newcomer. Hermione had never seen Malfoy look so unsure of himself. He usually exuded confidence, but she supposed that this was completely new territory for him. The small, afraid, little boy seemed to shine through in this situation, she realized, and she felt a small amount of affection for him.

_"__I was particularly moved by Lamuse's account of Eudoxie's fate," _he began.

The rest of the group hummed in agreement, sounding sad.

_"__Will you tell us about it?"_ Hermione asked, encouraging him to go into further detail.

He nodded. _"Despite all the carnage these soldiers witness on a daily basis, Eudoxie's demise strikes me as…especially horrific. Err… Lamuse was…well he was quite lovestruck with Eudoxie, he said he wanted to marry her and all that. But when he returns to the soldiers from assisting the Sappers clear out the trenches, he's covered in mud and they can't understand a word he's saying—he's ranting and raving, and understandably upset. He eventually informs the narrator that he saw Eudoxie's corpse."_

_A thick silence passed through the group. _

_Malfoy continued. "He said she was just rotting in a collapsed trench. He recognizes her by her hair, and her face and neck are…" _Malfoy grimaced. _"Well, he describes her appearance to be quite grotesque."_ His eyes adopted that far away look, and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Hermione swallowed, thinking back to the broken bleeding bodies of the dead after the Battle of Hogwarts. It was a sight she'd never in all her years be able to forget.

"Her body…" Malfoy blinked, suddenly remembering to speak in French once more. _"Her body falls on him, and he compares it to a mocking embrace, that even in death, she haunts him…" _He shook his head, opening the copy of _Le Feu_ that he held in his hands. He flipped through a few pages before finding the chapter. _"It says that he's so upset by the whole experience—the narrator says he collapses, 'his face buried in the earth, in his dream of love and decay.'"_

The group was nodding, a few were shaking their heads sadly.

Hermione sighed. _"One might even wonder," _she began, _"if it really was Eudoxie at all. Was Eudoxie real? He can't recognize her face, he only recognizes her hair—her face and neck were indistinguishable, the carnage was so bad. One might ask if he was just seeing someone else's body, and that he projected his loss onto this woman. His infatuation with Eudoxie was… it was a happy reprieve, one might say, from the violence of war. But in this novel, Barbusse makes us feel the horror, the longing, the loss, and the fundamental unintelligibility of war—especially to its participants. It is very common in war for soldiers to see their loved ones in the deaths of strangers."_

She remembered running through Hogwarts when she'd been separated from Harry, and seeing him in every fallen body they passed. She remembered running hand in hand with Ron, praying to all the powers above that Harry wasn't hurt. That the Weasleys were safe, that Luna and Neville weren't hurt, or worse...

_"War easily drives people mad,"_ she continued._ "But yes, that was a particularly…moving…chapter. Despite hundreds of days of fighting and countless corpses, this one dead body—this one dead woman—retains its power to disturb. Thank you, Draco."_

Draco nodded, looking especially pale. Hermione was sure he was just as haunted by the casualties of the Wizarding War as she.

She cleared her throat. _"Let's discuss the chapters we have ahead of us, shall we?"_

After the hour had passed, and the group had dispersed, Malfoy approached Hermione and began to help her put away the chairs.

"That was…quite an experience," he told her. "I'm glad I joined you guys for that."

Hermione nodded. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I think I need a cup of tea after that, though," she said with a light laugh.

Malfoy nodded. "May I join you?"

She blinked in surprise. "Err…sure. Yes, of course. I was just going to grab a cup from the café."

"That sounds good. Maybe you can show Florence how to make a good British cup of tea," he commented with a grin.

Hermione grinned right back. "Yeah, I'll bet I could."


	6. Tea Time

Hermione and Draco finished taking down the display and re-sorting the chairs and sofas, then walked to the café together. Hermione went behind the counter and began boiling water for their tea.

Malfoy stood on the other side of the counter with his hands in his pockets, watching her thoughtfully. "So I know you don't have a deep love for war novels, then, but let me ask you this. What's your favorite book?"

Hermione glanced up at him. "Favorite _ever?"_

He nodded, grinning. "Favorite ever," he confirmed.

She let out a deep breath. "That's…that's a loaded question." _Hogwarts, A History _came to mind. She had read that book from cover to cover more times than she could count, and she never tired of it. But she couldn't exactly tell him that was her favorite book, could she? Not without giving herself away. She filed through Muggle Literature choices in her head, trying to pick one, as she steeped the tea.

Malfoy watched her, his lips twitching in amusement. "Alright, Alright, don't strain yourself. You don't have to pick a _single_ favorite—I understand that may be a bit hard for you to do. Just list off some of your favorites as they come to mind," he said.

"Alright_. Love in a Time of Cholera_. It's just…a beautiful story. Hmmm…_A Tale of Two Cities_, I really enjoyed that one. _Crime and Punishment_, that book really makes you think. _To Kill A Mockingbird _is definitely one, I read that one when I was ten," she chuckled, straining their cups of tea and staring absently at the wall. "Have you ever read Stephen Crane's _Red Badge of Courage?_ It's an American novel set during the civil war, and I know I already mentioned my dislike for war novels, but this one in particular focuses more on trying to define courage. It's very fascinating, definitely an exception to my whole anti-war novel preference. I read it when I was younger, and it really moved me. It was very enlightening, actually, because people always throw the word _hero_ around, and what is a hero anyway? I mean…" She paused, frowning at Malfoy. "You're doing that peculiar stare again."

Malfoy was leaning on the counter, his chin supported by his hand, and he was openly staring at her with that dumb little grin of his that seemed to say _I don't have a care in the world right now._ He shook his head. "You're so fun to watch when you get into your books."

Hermione felt a blush crawl up her neck and onto her cheeks. "Sorry. I get a little carried away."

"No, don't apologize. It's positively adorable. I quite enjoy it." He stood up straight. "You know, you do remind me of someone I used to know. Well, I say _know, _but…" He shook his head again. "I went to school with her when I was younger."

Hermione felt the smile slowly fall from her face, and her stomach gave a nervous lurch. She turned back to their cups. "Oh," she commented, trying not to sound as nervous as she was feeling.

"She was very smart, just like you. She'd prattle off about her books to anyone who would listen," he said with a warm smile.

Well…that could be anyone, right? He couldn't possibly be referring to her, could he? She looked up at him through narrowed eyes. _Surely_ he wasn't referring to Hermione Granger.

"Hm. So was she an old girlfriend of yours then?" she asked, setting his cup of tea in front of him.

He accepted the mug from her and snorted. "Girlfriend? No, no way. Although she did punch me in the face once."

At this, Hermione froze. She didn't have a doubt in her mind that he could be referring to anyone but her. She remembered very distinctly punching him right in the nose in third year. It had been one of her proudest moments in school.

_"__Girlfriend,_" he muttered, shaking his head with a grin as he sat down at the nearest empty table. "Not a chance. She hated me, and rightly so. I hate to admit it, but err… I was a right prat when I was younger. I mean it. I was a horrible, rotten child. But I did hold a bit of a torch for this girl, if I'm going to be completely honest."

She froze halfway into the seat across from him. "What?"

He took a sip of his tea. "Ah…now this is British tea. Thank you. Cheers," he held his cup up to her before taking another sip.

Hermione's grip on her mug tightened painfully. _Malfoy_ had _liked_ her at Hogwarts? She bit her cheek, knowing she should drop the subject, but her insatiable curiosity was eating away at her. "Err… Not to be nosy, but I am curious. You _fancied _this girl?"

Draco nodded. "Big time. She was always _just_ ahead of me in marks, she excelled at everything she did, and she was brilliant. Plus, she hated me. So in the mind of a young boy, that definitely peaked some interest. You know how teenage boys are—always wanting what they can't have."

She realized she was staring at him, open-mouthed, and she quickly shut her mouth and forced herself to take a sip of her tea.

"So what about you?" he asked. "Did you have a school-girl crush when you were younger? I bet you had the boys eating out of your hand."

A great peal of laughter burst from Hermione's mouth before she could stop it. "No, not at all! I was… I was quite bookish. I didn't have any boyfriends in school."

Malfoy shot her a skeptical look. "I find that hard to believe. Not a single one? Not even an almost boyfriend?"

Hermione shrugged, taking another sip of tea. "I went on one date when I was in school. He was from another school, and he accompanied me to a school dance. That was the extent of my dating life until I…until I graduated."

"Hmm. Well, I still think-"

_"__Ah, more tea for the Brits, I see,"_ Florence interrupted, suddenly standing beside their table.

Hermione jumped, having not even noticed Florence was approaching.

_"__My, my," _Florence drawled. "You sure do like this bookshop, _Draco,"_ she said, winking at him.

Winking!

Draco nodded. "It's a lovely store. I am quite fond of it."

"Hmm…" Florence hummed, raising one eyebrow, before turning to Hermione. "Joan, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but _Grandmere_ is asking for you. She wanted to know where the list of tomorrow's shipments is. She said it isn't in the office."

Hermione perked up. "Oh! I used it as a bookmark in my book! It's behind the counter, I'll go grab it," she said, standing up. "Sorry, Draco, I should probably get back to work."

Draco shook his head. "Not a problem, not a problem." He stood up and glanced at his wristwatch. "I should probably get going anyway. I have business in Paris, I have to catch a flight up there soon."

Hermione did a double take. Did Malfoy just say he needed to catch a flight? He was taking a _plane_ to France? That couldn't be right. She decided he must have just been saying that for their sake. Apparation or Floo would be the most practical method of travel. Surely he wasn't actually taking a Muggle _aeroplane_ to _France.__  
><em>

Florence leaned forward, intrigued. "What kind of business?"

_"__Florence!"_ Hermione hissed.

Draco gave a breathy laugh. "Err, _actual_ business. I manage my family's finances and the finances of quite a few others. I have a dinner meeting tonight that I cannot be late to. It was good to see you again, Florence." He turned to Hermione and softened. "And Joan, thank you for tolerating me for such a long period of time. I rather enjoyed myself today. I'm sure I'll be back next week to bother you again."

Hermione's insides warmed at this, but externally, she shrugged it off. "You don't bother me," she assured him. "I enjoy our talks. Travel safely, I'll see you later."

"I sure hope so," Malfoy said softly, flashing Hermione with a commercial-worthy grin that made her stomach do backflips.

Both Hermione and Florence watched him leave, seeming to be in a trance. He smiled rakishly and waved before he opened the door, and then he was gone.

Hermione let out a deep breath. "Right. Back to work then." She glanced at Florence and gave her a smile that could only be described as giddy. "Come on."

Florence trailed behind her as she rummaged behind the counter for the shipment list.

_"__You sooooo like him,"_ Florence teased.

Hermione stood up straight at this, her eyes going wide at the accusation. "I do not," she scoffed.

_"__Look me in the eyes and try to deny it,"_ Florence challenged with a knowing grin.

Hermione looked her in the eyes. _"I…I don't…oh!"_ She threw her hands up in the air. _"I don't have to explain myself to you!"_

And with that, she snatched up the list and stomped away, leaving Florence behind, who was sporting a very smug expression.

Florence sighed, looking out the window. _"And Grandmere says _I'm_ the stubborn one," _she muttered.


	7. A Sleepless Snowy Night

Sunday night, it snowed again. Hermione had arrived home from work, dropped her bag on the floor, and immediately set out to making tea. She shrugged off her snow-covered scarf and jacket as it steeped, and retrieved her wand from her bag. Bringing it to her head, she muttered her counter-spell. _"Revelare Verum Sui."_

Once the tingling sensation had passed, she shook out her honey brown hair and gave a content sigh. It was ever so tiring to wear a face that was not her own every day.

She picked up her tea, and walked to the full-length mirror that stood in her bedroom. She stood before her reflection and smiled. When you spent your days disguised as someone else, it was easy to forget what you really looked like. She fluffed out her curly mass of hair and spent a few minutes looking at her reflection, enjoying being able to look like Hermione Granger once more. She set her tea down on her bedside table so she could throw her hair up into a careless bun on top of her head, and when she picked up her mug of tea again, her eyes fell to the nasty scar on her left forearm.

She had tried all kinds of potions, spells, and ointments for it after the war, but Bellatrix had used a very rare type of cursed knife that had caused irreparable scarring. At first, she had taken to using a glamour that made it unnoticeable to anyone but her—sort of like a notice-me-not charm. But once she began to disguise herself day to day, she tweaked the spell so that it also completely diminished the scar's appearance in the same way that the spell did away with her freckles. She didn't particularly enjoy seeing a different face when she looked in the mirror—it was slightly disturbing—but not having to see _Mudblood_ carved across her arm was a definite perk.

She crawled into bed, putting her wand in its usual spot in her top drawer, and pulled the covers up around her waist. She snuggled up with her cup of steaming hot tea, and looked around her silent flat. It was times like this that she really missed Crookshanks. He had been living with her parents in Australia while she was on the run, and had fallen victim to the same massacre that killed her parents. She liked to think that he had probably died trying to defend them—he was always such a loyal, fierce thing—and that gave her a tiny modicum of comfort, but not much. She'd debated over getting another pet since becoming a permanent resident of France, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. The only practical pet to have would be a cat since she often worked long hours. But she didn't want just another cat. To be honest, she wanted Crookshanks—and he was gone.

She took a deep breath, promising herself she would not get emotional tonight. She had already spent plenty of time mourning for her losses, she didn't need to get worked up tonight for no reason. Besides, she had a long day ahead of her tomorrow—_The Drowsy Poet_ was hosting a book signing for a famous local author. It was sure to be a busy day since Florence was out of town visiting her older brother until Tuesday.

After setting her alarm clock, she pulled a novel from the tall stack of books on her bedside table, and set into reading until she calmed down.

She didn't even make it half way through the first chapter before thoughts of Draco Malfoy filled her head.

She slammed her book down onto her lap. _Damn that Malfoy!_ Another cup of tea—that's what she needed. Throwing her covers back, she set out for the kitchen once more.

She leaned against the kitchen counter as the water boiled, staring off into space with her arms wrapped around her torso. _What am I doing?_ She wondered.

Hermione was a practical woman, she was a logical woman—she was a _smart _woman. Hell, she'd been the brains behind the operation to take down one of the darkest wizards in history. And yet, none of her actions recently involving Draco Malfoy were practical, logical, _or_ smart. The practical, logical, _smart_ course of action would have been to flee. She should have avoided Malfoy from the very second he stepped into her store. She should have let Florence help him with whatever literary inquiries he had. At the very least, she should have been as aloof as possible. But no, what had she done? She had listened to him, looked into those steel gray eyes of his, she had answered his questions, she'd joined him for tea—she had even gone as far as to reciprocate when he flirted with her!

Now he would be coming back again this week, she was sure of it. And _then_ what would happen? Hermione knew better than to fool herself into thinking she could participate in some kind of friendship with Draco Malfoy under a false identity. She was a terrible liar. She wouldn't get very far before he was bound to figure it all out.

_Maybe I should just tell him who I am,_ came a niggling thought into her head.

_Wait, what?_

Hermione was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of the kettle whistling. She took the kettle off the stove and slipped the tea strainer under the lid. Staring at the kettle while her tea steeped, she wondered at herself. Why on _earth_ would she reveal who she really was to _Draco Malfoy_, of all people? If she was going to be honest about her identity, it certainly wasn't going to be to the ferret, of all people.

_But he's certainly not a ferret anymore, is he?_

Hermione sighed, really wishing her inner voice would shut up.

While it was true, this new, older, kinder, _happier _Malfoy held a definite appeal—it just wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be right to go back to being Hermione Granger like this. If she was going to be herself, if she was going to be Hermione Granger, she owed Harry and Ginny—probably even Ron, and definitely the rest of the Weasleys—an explanation first. A letter, at the very least. She glanced at her book-covered desk, on which sat a pad of notebook paper and a few dozen pens, and was suddenly overcome with anxiety.

No, she didn't want to be Hermione Granger. She was perfectly content with being Joan Spinner. She liked this life—she wanted to keep it.

She poured herself a cup of tea, deciding that, in the end, her hands were bound. She would tolerate Malfoy whenever he showed up in the future, help him continue to educate himself on Muggle literature—if that's what he wanted—and he would eventually go home to England, or Paris or…wherever. Malfoy was still the same flirtatious, rakish, heart-throb he'd always been. That, at least, hadn't changed. He had always been an avid pursuer of women—she'd heard the rumors back at Hogwarts. So logically, all Hermione needed to do was ignore his pursuits, and he'd lose interest…right? If she stopped flirting back and stopped admiring his arse when he walked away—eventually he would disappear, leaving her to her quiet life once more.

Hermione felt quite pleased with her plan as she retreated back to bed with her fresh cup of tea.

Yes, this would be easy, she decided.

That irksome little voice in her head disagreed.


	8. Mobiles and Book Orders

The Monday morning book signing neared chaos. Hermione rushed around all morning, organizing and reorganizing things, directing people and redirecting people, handling more purchases than she could count. It was now midday, and Hermione was counting the contents of the cash register.

"Well aren't you a sight today," came a smooth voice from the other side of the register.

Hermione's eyes snapped up to see a smiling Malfoy standing before her, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other holding two books.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "M…Draco! Mmm…how are you?" She tried to inconspicuously cover her almost slip. "How was…err… How was Paris?"

His smile grew, and he looked pleased at her question. "My meeting went very well, thank you for asking." He stepped forward, setting his books on the counter before looking around the shop. "Busy day today," he commented.

Hermione nodded with a sigh. "That it is," she said, reaching for his books. "We had a book signing today. Aurora Flemens. Her book was quite enjoyable, she's very popular," she babbled anxiously. "She's a very talented writer. Her descriptions really bring the setting of her novels to life. I find her characters to be very real, very breathable, and…" She paused, holding up Malfoy's books. "_Love in a Time of Cholera? A Tale of Two Cities?_" She glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Malfoy's shit-eating grin faltered a bit and he shrugged, looking a bit bashful. "I was looking for something new, and…" He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes falling to the book in her hand. "And you know, a cute girl mentioned these ones a few days ago, so I thought I'd give them a try." His eyes found hers again, and his cheeky grin returned.

Hermione smiled, feeling her face heat up and her stomach flutter. "Oh…" He thought she was cute? Wait. No, he thought _Joan_ was cute. The fluttering in her stomach turned to disappointment, and it dropped heavy like a stone at the realization that her appearance was not her own. He couldn't see her for who she was. His comment was no compliment to her.

The smile faded and she resumed ringing up the books in silence.

"I was… I was actually wondering about that other book you mentioned. The American one about courage, and a badge of some sort?" Draco mentioned, his voice full of hesitation.

Hermione looked up at him and blinked. "The Red Badge of Courage," she corrected.

Draco nodded. "Ah, that was it. Do you guys happen to carry it here?"

She shook her head. "We don't, but we can order it and have it here at the end of the week for you." _Bugger,_ she thought as the words slipped out of her mouth. _Bugger, Hermione! Don't encourage him! You'll only give him another reason to come back! You're supposed to be _avoiding_ him, for goodness sake!_

His trademark smirk reappeared. "I'd like to order it, then—please."

She nodded, reaching under the counter for a special order form. "If you'll fill this out for me," she instructed as she handed it to him.

"Can I borrow a pen?" Malfoy asked, taking the form from her.

"Of course." She looked around, trying to find the pen she'd had in her hand mere minutes ago. "It was just here…"

"Err…" Draco coughed, trying to cover up a laugh.

"What?" Hermione asked, feeling self-conscious. "What's so funny?"

He bit the inside of his cheek and pointed to her head.

She touched her head uneasily. "Is there something wrong with my hair?"

Draco shook his head emphatically. "No, not at all, it's just… Well, if I may?" He tentatively reached his hand out towards her.

Hermione frowned, clearly not following.

Draco was struggling not to laugh now. "I'll just… I'm going to… Here." He reached up towards the messy bun holding up her hair. Hermione frowned, confused, until there was a slight tug, and Malfoy's hand came away with her missing pen.

"It was in your hair," Malfoy informed her, amusement shining in his eyes.

Hermione could feel her blush reaching epic proportions. Her ears were on fire, and she knew her face and neck were red as well. "Oh," she said. "I completely forgot that I put that there."

Draco continued to grin. "So I noticed." He clicked the pen, and began filling out the form. "Do you do that often? Keep things in that curly hair of yours?"

Hermione couldn't help but smile in embarrassment, thinking back to all the times at Hogwarts when she had haphazardly stuck her wand into her bun when studying alone in the library. "Sometimes," she admitted. "It's a bad habit, I know."

Draco shook his head as he signed his name at the bottom of the form, handing it to her along with payment for his purchases. As she handed him his change, he eyed her warmly.

"You know, Joan, I don't think you realize just how adorable you are," he told her.

Hermione blinked rapidly and took a shaky breath, laughing nervously. "Erm… Thank you, I think?"

Malfoy nodded. "You'll call me later this week, won't you?" he asked.

Her heart leapt in her chest. "What?" she blurted as her eyes went wide.

Malfoy's smile grew and his eyes turned mischievous. "When my book arrives? The Red Badge of Courage? You'll call and let me know?"

Hermione gave a deep exhale, shaking her head. "You git," she muttered. She had no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Malfoy looked quite pleased with himself, amusement all over his face. "I mean, if you want to call me for any other reason, any personal reasons, you can do that too. And you certainly don't have to wait til the end of the week," he added, still flashing those pearly white teeth. "That is my personal mobile number, after all," he said, nodding towards the order form in her hand.

Hermione bit her lip, trying to fight back a smile. Then what he had said really hit her. "Wait, you have a mobile?" she exclaimed.

Malfoy laughed. "Of course I have a mobile. This is 2004, after all. One of those posh Razer ones, too."

She stared at him in wonderment. It wasn't adding up, all this talk of aeroplanes, cell phones, and Muggle Literature. If she didn't know better, she would say that it sounded as if Malfoy was living like a _Muggle._ But that couldn't be right, could it? Malfoy was the last person who would live without magic!

A queue was starting to build up behind Malfoy, and he glanced behind him. "Well I had better be going," he decided. "Your shop is very busy, I wouldn't want to distract you from your work any more than I already have. I'll see you later this week. Or maybe I'll hear from you before then," he added with a wink. He picked up his books. "Have a good day, Joan."

"Yeah, you too, Draco…" Hermione said shakily, watching him leave.

An old woman stepped up to the counter and cleared her throat, bringing Hermione back to reality.

"So sorry," Hermione muttered with a sheepish smile. "Will this be all for you today?" she asked, taking the woman's books from her.

As she began ringing up various customers' purchases, she couldn't ignore the apparent high Malfoy's visit had given her. Why was she so affected by his charm? Shifting her focus back to work with a newfound resolution, she pushed away thoughts of Draco Malfoy—for now.


	9. It's Complicated

Friday arrived too quickly, and with it, Malfoy's book. Hermione was currently holding it with shaking hands, debating over whether or not she should pick up the phone and actually call him.

Shaking her head, she set the book under the cash register. _Of course_ she needed to call him and inform him his book was here. He'd paid for it, after all.

_Stop being so ridiculous,_ she admonished herself. _Just call him and tell him to come pick up his stupid book so he can get it and leave._ Rising, she set out for the office. _Just call him and tell him his book is here. Then if he says he'll be here right away, you can leave and let Florence give it to him._

But why would he come right away? He was probably busy. He wouldn't just drop everything to come pick up a book. So how would she know when to avoid him? She massaged her throbbing temple. Malfoy was going to be the death of her.

Order form in hand, she picked up the phone and dialed his number, noticing for the first time that he had written _Draco Beaulac _on the form instead of _Draco Malfoy._ How curious…

_Maybe he wouldn't even answer, _she thought as the phone rang and rang. Maybe she could get away with just leaving a message. If she was lucky, he'd be too busy to pick up, and she wouldn't have to—

"Draco Beaulac speaking."

Curse it all.

"Hello, this is Joan from _The Drowsy Poet," _she announced.

His tone went from sharp and all business to warm and friendly almost immediately.

"Well hey there, Joan. How are you today?" She could hear the smile in his voice.

_Sweet Circe,_ she thought as her stomach gave a nervous flip.

"I'm doing alright, how about you?" she asked. _Damn it, Hermione, stop making small talk!_

He heaved a great sigh. "I've had a busy, busy, stressful week. But the quality of my day is certainly improving now."

Damn Malfoy for being such a blatant _flirt!_

"So," he continued. "Has my book arrived, or are you just calling because you miss me?"

A stupid grin crawled up her face. _No, Hermione! You're acting like a giddy schoolgirl. This is Draco Malfoy! Pull yourself together._

"Your book, has in fact, arrived. I have it right here waiting for you," she told him.

"Wonderful. Well, can I come pick it up this weekend? I'm afraid I'm not in town at the moment."

Hermione nodded, winding the phone cord around her finger. When she realized she was fiddling, she dropped the cord and took a deep breath.

"Sure, no problem. It'll be right here waiting for you."

"You'll keep an eye on it for me?" he practically purred.

She wrinkled her nose at his tone. God, he was positively shameless! But she had to admit that he was definitely effective.

"You're incorrigible," she admonished with a grin. "I'll have you know that I'm onto you," she announced confidently.

"You're on to me?" he asked. "Pray tell, what is it that you're on to me about?"

"If you think you can just charm me with a disarming smile and a few obvious flirtations, you have another thing coming. It won't work on me, I'm immune."

He gave a throaty laugh. "Oh I'd hope so. I'm counting on it. I was hoping you'd be able to see past these good looks—that beneath this charming, _extraordinarily_ handsome surface is a…delightful intellectual," he finished with a sigh.

She couldn't stop herself from laughing, and he joined her. She shook her head. "You're a git," she chuckled.

"Guilty as charged," he responded. "But…anyway, I really have to be going. I'm headed into a meeting in a bit, but I'm glad I got to talk to you first. Hear your laugh—all that."

She bit her lip, not knowing quite how to respond.

"But I'll definitely come in this weekend. That book is just calling my name," he teased.

"Have you even started reading the last ones you bought yet?"

"I have, in fact. I started _Love in a Time of Cholera _that same day."

"And?" she couldn't refrain from asking.

"I'm really enjoying it. But that's no surprise—you make very good recommendations. I'm lucky to have found you."

Hermione blushed. What was wrong with her? "I'm glad to hear it," she said softly.

"Are you working this weekend?" he asked. She could hear the _ding_ of what sounded like an elevator in the background.

"I am," she confirmed.

"Good," he said. "Then I'll see you when I get there."

"Alright."

"Alright," he repeated. "Have a good rest of your day, Joan."

She sobered at that name. What was she doing? Flirting with Draco while pretending to be someone else?

She cleared her throat, her smile fading. "You too, Draco."

"Talk to you later," he said. "Feel free to call me again, if you'd like. It's always nice to talk to you."

She nodded. "Mmm-hmm."

"Bye."

"Bye."

She hung up the phone, placing it back in its cradle.

"God, Granger, you are so _stupid,"_ she muttered to herself.

"_What_ was that?"

Hermione whipped around to see Florence standing in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe with her arms crossed.

Her heartbeat picked up and she swallowed nervously. "Nothing," she insisted, her face heating up.

Florence's nose wrinkled. "Did you just call yourself _Ranger?_" She shook her head. "You are so weird sometimes, you know that?"

Her panic subsided as she realized she wasn't caught. Of course she wasn't caught! Florence was the _last_ person she had to worry about. She had never even _heard_ of Hermione Granger.

"So I've heard," she chuckled. "Wait, how long were you standing there?" she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Florence immediately grinned like a Cheshire cat. _"Long enough to hear that you were on the phone with Draco," _she said smugly in her native tongue.

Hermione blushed fiercely and straightened defensively, lifting her head up high. _"I was simply informing him that the book he ordered earlier this week arrived today." _

Florence outright laughed at her. _"Do us all a favor, Joan, and just go out with him already."_

_"__I will do no such thing!" _

_"__And why ever not? You're crazy!" _Florence said, shaking her head. _"Everyone in this store can see he likes you. He's handsome, he's funny, he's at least half as obsessed with books as you are—"_ she continued, waving her hand at Hermione, _"and if his clothes are any indication, he's very well off financially."_

Hermione's nose wrinkled in distaste. _"I don't care if he's financially well off or not."_

Florence softened. _"Then what kind of impossibly high standard have you set for men that Draco doesn't meet?"_

Hermione blinked. _"What are you talking about?"_

_"__Joan, you are a strong woman. You're beautiful, you're smart. There's a reason Grandmere has you handle most of the financial things for the shop—you're brilliant, it's obvious. And you're clearly very independent. So I'm assuming the reason you don't date is because you're waiting for just the right kind of person to come along. You probably have very high standards, and you should. Good for you. I wish I was more like that. But it's obvious you enjoy Draco's company. You light up like Christmas every time he shows up."_

Hermione made a sound of protest, but Florence cut her off.

_"__Don't deny it—you do. You really do. So why are you so set on not having anything to do with him? What about him isn't good enough? I'm curious, because I see nothing wrong with him," _she laughed.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "It's… it's not _him,_ necessarily." She absently toyed with a strand of her hair. "It's…" She shook her head. "It's complicated—very complicated. You wouldn't understand."

Florence shrugged. _"Then make it uncomplicated. It can't be that hard," _she scoffed. _"Just do what makes you happy, Joan. You deserve to be happy."_

And with that, she turned and walked out the door.

Hermione dropped into the office chair behind her, wishing, with a pang of guilt, that she hadn't made things so complicated in the first place.


	10. First-hand Humiliation

**Short chapter here! I had to end it here, the dramatic effect was just too good.**

**Also thank you for all the reviews! I love hearing from y'all and I appreciate the feedback. I'm loving how curious you all are about what's going to happen. Don't worry, all will be revealed soon. I won't keep y'all waiting too much longer.**

**Enjoy!**

Hermione was a nervous mess all weekend long. On Saturday, she practically jumped every time the front door opened. She misplaced several things—books, lists, shipment orders, schedules, receipts—and spent half the day looking for them. When Saturday passed and Malfoy hadn't showed, she was both relieved and disappointed. By the time she walked into the shop on Sunday morning, she was so exhausted that she just gave up. She resigned herself to whatever fate would become her. She'd hardly slept the night before, tossing and turning as thoughts and questions whirled around in her head like a tornado.

And the guilt! Oh, the guilt was eating away at her. She was finally able to admit to herself that she really did like Malfoy. Merlin's beard, but she did. So what was she supposed to do now?

_Hey Draco, I know you think I'm just some Muggle Bookshop girl you met, but surprise! It's me, Hermione Granger—the girl you despised and fought against in one of the largest wars in Wizard history! Want to go out sometime?_

Unlikely.

And what then? If she decided to come clean and tell him the truth—then what? Would he be angry? Definitely. Would he hate her? Most likely. Would he even want anything to do with her once he knew who she was? She couldn't even begin to wager a guess.

_"Stop worrying your lip or soon you won't have any lip left!"_ Florence scolded.

Hermione jumped, surprised by Florence's sudden appearance. _"Stop doing that,"_ she grumbled.

_"Doing what?"_ Florence asked.

_"Sneaking up on me!"_

_"Joan, I have been standing here for at least five minutes. You're head is up in the clouds today, and I'll bet I can guess why," _she teased in a sing-song voice.

Hermione leaned forward and rested her elbows on the counter. She let out a groan as she massaged her pounding temples. _"I'd rather you not,"_ she muttered.

Florence clicked her tongue disapprovingly. _"Well I'm going to anyway. Is it because of a certain blonde haired man? About six feet tall, handsome, flirtatious, who likes to purchase as many books as he can?"_

Hermione grumbled unintelligibly, throwing an irritated glance at Florence.

_"What was that, dear?"_ the ebony-haired girl asked, looking quite like the cat that swallowed the canary.

_"I don't want to talk about it anymore, Florence!"_ Hermione exclaimed, finally at the end of her patience. _"And I don't want to hear about it either!"_ She closed her eyes, focusing on massaging her aching head. _"I don't care how handsome he is. I don't care that he's funny."_

_"Um, Joan?"_ Florence started.

_"No!" _Hermione cut her off. _"I mean it, Florence! If you remind me one more time how handsome or literarily inclined he is, or you rub it in my face that I like him—any of that! If you say one more thing, Florence, if you say one more thing about Draco, and how you think I should go out with him, I'm going to lose it! I _know_ he's smart. I know he's dashing—"_

_"Joan," _Florence interjected, more forcefully this time, but Hermione continued ignoring her.

_"I know that I 'light up like Christmas' when he's around. Do you really think I am unaware? I'm aware, Florence, I'm aware that I like him. I'm trying to figure out the best course of action here, I couldn't even bloody sleep last night because—"_

And that was when someone cleared their throat. A very _masculine_ sounding someone.

Hermione went completely still. _No no no,_ she thought. _Please, sweet powers above, please don't be…_

Her eyes shot open.

_Damn it all._

Draco Malfoy was standing right in front of her, wearing the most self-satisfied, shit-eating grin she had ever seen in her life.

Her jaw dropped open, absolute _horror_ washing through her.

Florence shifted uncomfortably on her feet. _"I…I tried to get you to stop, but…"_

The silence that settled over them must have weighed three tons, at least. Hermione was shell-shocked. She couldn't move. There were no thoughts going through her head except for the knowledge that she was absolutely, completely, and totally _mortified._

_"I think I'll just…" _Florence began. _"Um… I'm gonna go,"_ she concluded. And with that, she walked—no she _ran—_across the store.

Hermione's face was on fire as she stood up straight and sniffed, trying to regain what little dignity she had left. She opened her mouth, unable to find words before closing it once more.

Draco's eyes never left her. "You know," he drawled, "If it'll make you feel better, I can pretend I didn't hear any of that," he offered.

A fresh wave of humiliation hit her and her shoulders drooped.

Malfoy took a step forward. "If it's any consolation, I think that was, hands down, the cutest tirade I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing."

Hermione bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. She hadn't felt this thoroughly humiliated since Professor Snape had called her an insufferable know-it-all in front of her entire Potions class in first year. She swallowed thickly.

"There are no words," she croaked, "to accurately convey how embarrassed I am right now."

He pursed his lips together in an attempt to prevent himself, she was sure, from laughing.

"Well, let's just move on to another subject then, shall we?"

Hermione nodded gratefully.

Malfoy leaned forward onto the counter. "Good afternoon," he said, his voice thick with charm. "I'm here to pick up a book…and to ask you to dinner."


	11. Whiskey and Elevators

**Guess what I did for you guys? A Draco POV chapter! Hooray! I hope this chapter will clue ya'll in a bit as to what Draco is about. Not too much, though. There remains some kind of mystery about what has happened to Draco... But I will reveal all secrets in good time! Hope ya'll enjoy reading this! Feel free to offer feedback, I love hearing what readers do and don't like, and I'm open to constructive criticism. **

**Without further ado, here's some Draco.**

Draco Malfoy was having a terrible week. He poured a glass of whiskey as he dropped into the chair in his hotel suite, the leather material making a straining sound under his sudden weight.

He took a drink of his whiskey and grimaced.

Merlin, he hated Muggle whiskey.

In the last eighteen months of being forced to live without magic, he had come to appreciate a number of Muggle things—books, movie theaters (he found their lengthy, moving pictures quite enjoyable), mobiles (convenient), computers (slightly confusing, but he'd gotten the hang of it), internet (google had been very useful indeed), radios, cars (he loved his car)—but the alcohol was definitely not one of them. _Muggle whiskey is a poor substitute for Firewhiskey_, he thought as he downed the contents of his tumbler.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his slender fingers, he heaved a deep sigh.

All week he had been rushing around, kissing the arses of some very high up corporate managers in an attempt to obtain the accounts of a very important but _ruthless_ Belgian company. They were known for their reluctance to incorporate third party sources into their business, and they had certainly lived up to their reputation. He had been to countless meetings this week, spent at least a quarter of his days on the phone (he sure hoped that Muggle man on the telly wasn't correct about extended use of mobiles giving you that ominous-sounding Muggle disease called Cancer), attended two business dinners and lunches in Paris, and he had been forced to play an incredibly long and boring Muggle game called _golf._ What a pity that Muggles had to play all sports on the ground—after a lifetime playing quidditch, nothing could really compare.

Glancing at his empty glass, he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he stood and approached the vast window that showed a spectacular view of Paris.

The Malfoy family had lost a considerable amount of money after the war. In addition to the massive fines they'd had to pay for their crimes, they had made large donations to Hogwarts, St. Mungo's, Diagon Alley, and various charities that reached out to wizarding families who had been affected by the war. And while these financial losses had put only a slight dent in the vast Malfoy fortune, what had really hurt was the business they lost.

Almost no one in the wizarding community would do business with the Malfoys anymore.

It was no surprise—the Malfoy name was forever tainted by their alliance with the Dark Lord. Sure, Narcissa and Draco had changed sides before the war was over, but Lucius had not—and the fact that they had aligned themselves with a murderous psychopath in the first place was enough to drive every businessman in the wizarding world away.

The Malfoy name was ruined. Their family was in disgrace.

Once Lucius had been sentenced to Azkaban for his crimes, all financial matters and responsibilities were put on Draco's shoulders. Their financial accounts had been frozen during the year that Narcissa and Draco were under house arrest, and when their restrictions were lifted, Draco had set to work on trying to repair the damage his father had done—the damage they had _all_ done.

He had met with a financial advisor from Italy in an attempt to find a solution to their problems, and the man had suggested outsourcing to the Muggle world.

Draco had initially balked at that. Although he didn't exactly possess any _passionate_ prejudices against Muggles any longer, he doubted the probability of having success working with them. Plus, he knew next to nothing about them; he knew nothing of their world. How was he supposed to do business with them?

That was when had disaster struck. After a particularly unfortunate and somewhat traumatizing misunderstanding, he had been tried once again before the Wizemgamot and penalized further—sentenced to live for two years without magic.

After that, he had no choice but to do business in the Muggle world.

Learning to live without magic and becoming a part of the Muggle world had been the most difficult, miserable thing he'd ever done. But it hadn't been as difficult as one might expect to let go of his prejudice against Muggles. After all, losing the war had shaken everything he thought he knew.

Draco had spent his childhood and youth trying to please his father. He had admired his father, revered his father—_feared _his father. He had obeyed his every command, believed every word he said.

When Lucius told him that Muggles were worthless and inferior, he had taken him for his word. It made sense at the time. They didn't have magic! When he told Draco that Muggleborns and half-bloods were below them, it must have been true—otherwise, why would Lucius say such a thing? His father was older, he was wiser, he was powerful and well-respected by the community, and he struck fear into the hearts of even the darkest wizards in Britain. Besides, Draco was rather fond of being able to gloat his superiority over others. How could he help but believe his father?

So when Lucius told him he had been summoned by the Dark Lord to receive the Mark, he obeyed.

_"__This is a great honor, Draco,"_ he'd told him.

And at first, Draco had believed that. He'd been proud. He'd swaggered through the Slytherin commonroom, not afraid to let his sleeve _accidentally_ slip upward so that the rest of the Slytherin house could catch a glance of his Dark Mark. He reveled in the wide eyes and the hushed whispers that seemed to follow him everywhere.

But as the war advanced, as it came time to commit terrible acts, Draco found himself completely overwhelmed by what he was expected to do.

The doubts began to set in—mostly about his desire and ability to be a part of the Dark Lord's agenda.

As he started attending the Dark Lord's gatherings, he watched in disgust as his mighty and powerful father _shrank_ in the presence of the Dark Lord, allowing himself to be humiliated and treated like a lowly servant. When Lucius had surrendered his own wand to the Dark Lord, forfeiting the most valuable possession a witch or wizard owned, he began to doubt his father completely. He started to wonder how wise and knowledgeable Lucius really was.

Then came the day when he had overheard Potter and that obnoxious Weasley boy talking about how the Dark Lord himself was a _half-blood._

That couldn't be right, could it? Those of pure blood were meant to rule, and those with tainted blood were to serve.

He had made the mistake of asking his father if it was true, and he would never forget the panic and fear in Lucius's eyes as he hoarsely forbade him from ever speaking those words again before Draco had received one of the most terrible beatings his father had ever given him.

_One_ of them, definitely not the very worst.

And so, Draco had swallowed up his questions and kept his doubts carefully hidden behind the shield he had been trained to build in his lifetime of Occlumency lessons.

It wasn't until it had come time for Draco to kill Dumbledore that the cold hard realization hit him.

He was not cut out to be a death eater.

He didn't want to torture people, he didn't want to murder people—he didn't want to perform any of these heinous acts that so many death eaters seemed to enjoy. He wasn't like Bellatrix. She scared the piss out of him. She _lived_ for causing people suffering. She did terrible, _terrible_ things, and she did it with a twisted smile and a murderous _glee._

Abandoning the Dark Lord at the Battle of Hogwarts had been a piece of cake compared to the two years he spent doing Voldemort's bidding.

And after seeing how irreparably Lucius had damaged the Malfoy family name—by then he was _sure_ that his father hadn't been _half_ as right as he'd grown up believing.

So why were Muggles, half-bloods, and Muggleborns supposedly beneath him? It didn't make sense.

He'd seen proof at his time as a student in Hogwarts that told a different story—Hermione Granger was the prominent example that came to mind.

As a child, his father had referred to Granger as a mudblood, and he'd quickly taken to throwing that name at her whenever he could. Her blood was soiled and she was unworthy to even speak to them. She was an inferior witch because she was born to Muggle parents. She shouldn't have possessed magic or a wand at all. It was detestable.

Yet, Granger had always beat him in grades at school. She succeeded at everything she did. Hermione was reputably the most brilliant witch of her age. It was _Hermione_ who had been the intellectual backbone of the golden trio—it was _Hermione_ who had helped take down Voldemort himself.

And Potter—his mother had been Muggleborn, but he had single-handedly beat the Dark Lord in a duel—one that rid the world of Voldemort completely!

Snape, who had been looked down on his whole life for being a half-blood—even when he was Voldemort's most highly ranked servant—had deceived the most feared dark wizard in history. He'd _lied_ to Voldemort's face time and time again. He had spied on Voldemort _for close to two entire decades._ That was more than _anyone_ of pure blood had done. There was nothing inferior about that.

Throughout his years at Hogwarts, he had seen, time and time again, that there were indeed successful wizards and witches who possessed this reputably _dirty_ blood—and it held no true weight in their magical performance or abilities.

Once Draco realized he didn't believe in pureblood superiority anymore, he began to wonder if there was anything bad about Muggles in the first place. They couldn't perform magic, so surely they should have been lacking in some degree of success in the world. But he came to learn that that wasn't true either. Sure, the Muggles did things very differently than the Wizarding community, but they even had things that Wizards didn't, and they seemed to get on just fine.

Then arrived the day that Draco realized _he _was the inferior one. He had his family's money, but that was about it. Gone was the power that came with being a Malfoy. Gone was his ability to take over his father's business and man it successfully in his world. Gone were his friends and admirers—if he'd even truly had any in the first place. No witch would give him the time of day. Almost nobody wanted anything to do with him at all. It wasn't even safe for him to go to the pub with Blaise anymore!

After the initial anger and bitterness of losing his magic had faded, he had set out with a newfound determination to prove them all wrong. He decided that he would rebuild his name and reputation and he would do it _his_ way. He would show them, everyone who thought they could _spit_ on his name and turn him away—he _would_ be successful. He _would_ be worthy of something.

It had been the most difficult thing he'd ever done. It had taken more time and dedication than he ever knew he possessed, and he definitely wasn't finished—but he'd certainly made headway.

At first his motivation had been anger. He was bitter and he was furious. But as the year had passed and he had adjusted to the Muggle world, he found that he was almost…happy. Not completely happy—he wouldn't feel true peace until he was able to practice magic again—but his new life held a certain quality about it that he had never experienced. There was a satisfaction that came with the freedom to be whoever he wanted to be. He no longer went by the name Malfoy, for the sake of his privacy. No, he was Draco Beaulac now—a surname his mother had picked out for him.

Some things had not changed. Draco was still impatient, stubborn, and arrogant. He had a horrible temper. He drank much more than he should. He was prone to argue when he believed he was right—which was often. He enjoyed spending his money on lavish things—food, clothes, and since living in the Muggle world, cars.

But his manners had improved. He was a better listener. He'd become fond of treating others with respect, especially when he found that they liked him better when he did.

And certainly, he no longer felt that he was better than everybody else.

His eyes caught on the dark mark that sat on his arm, forever branded on his skin. An ugly mark that no kind of glamour or treatment—either magical or muggle—would ever be able to alter or remove.

A reminder of what a foolish, selfish boy he had been. A reminder of the kind of man he never wanted to become.

He was contemplating indulging in another drink when his mobile began to vibrate from its place on his large oak desk. He reached over and picked it up, not recognizing the number. _Wonderful,_ he thought, _probably that ruthless Belgian bastard again with an excuse to try and back out of our meeting._

"Draco Beaulac speaking," he answered, not even trying that hard to keep irritation out of his tone.

"Hello, this is Joan from _The Drowsy Poet,"_ came a nervous female voice—just the voice he'd been waiting to hear.

His bad mood evaporated and he smiled. "Well hey there, Joan. How are you today?"

He'd taken a class on Muggles in his business training before moving to France, and he'd learned it was very important to ask how someone's day was. It made them far more cooperative and made interactions run smoother. He supposed it would make e_veryone _more cooperative—wizard and Muggle alike, but all the same, he'd developed the semi-annoying habit of asking almost everyone about their day—even the bloody attendant who worked at the gas station near his chateau. Merlin, that man talked an awful lot. He was so bloody annoying.

"I'm doing alright, how are you?" she replied.

He sighed in response to her question. "I've had a busy, busy, stressful week. But the quality of my day is certainly improving now," he drawled.

It had been a long time since he had dated anybody. Sure, there was no shortage of Parisian women willing to participate in a good shag when he wanted one, but Draco hadn't actually _pursued_ anybody since the war. He hadn't had time during his busy year, and before he'd left England, he'd quickly learned his choices were limited to zero because of who he was. Not even _Pansy_ had wanted anything to do with him once they'd lost the war. Not a single witch would so much as _speak_ to him, so disgraced were the Malfoys.

Muggle women, however, were a different story, and Joan certainly liked his flirting. She was straight-laced, shy, and usually very tense, he'd noticed, and he enjoyed how she would blush and turn frazzled whenever he flashed her a grin.

She was smart, too—smart _and_ cute. Her knowledge was what had attracted Draco to her in the first place. Draco had had his share of attractive women. He had been the Prince of Slytherin House, after all. But smart women? Not so much. Pansy had been as vapid as they come. Even Astoria, who had been at least somewhat intelligent, hadn't been particularly contributive in conversations. Not that he'd really spent much time _conversing_ with the girls he'd dated, but all the same…

Joan was quiet for a moment, and Draco wondered what she was doing. He was willing to bet money that she was biting that cute pink lip of hers.

"So," he continued. "Has my book arrived, or are you just calling because you miss me?"

"Your book, has in fact, arrived. I have it right here waiting for you," came her warm reply.

_Ah,_ there was the smile he was hoping for. He could hear it in her voice. She was a mysterious one. She rarely reciprocated to his flirting, but she was definitely receptive. He was particularly fond of the way she began to recite facts about different books when she was nervous. But she always seemed like she was holding back, and sometimes she was completely aloof. It was a fresh breath of air to Draco, who in his experience, had grown used to women throwing themselves all over him at the slightest provocation.

"Wonderful," he concluded. "Well, can I come pick it up this weekend? I'm afraid I'm not in town at the moment." He had a meeting with that insufferable Belgian business man in…only an hour, he noted with a glance at his watch. He spurred into action, rolling down his sleeves and grabbing his suit jacket off the massive canopy bed.

"Sure, no problem. It'll be right here waiting for you." The way she said it made it sound _mildly_ suggestive.

"You'll keep an eye on it for me?" he teased, making his voice as sultry as possible.

"You're incorrigible," she replied. "I'll have you know that I'm onto you."

Draco missed his grasp for the door handle, thinking the worst, before shaking his head and taking hold of the door handle successfully. _Don't be absurd. There's no way she knows anything about your history._

"You're on to me?" he asked, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him. "Pray tell, what is it that you're on to me about?"

"If you think you can just charm me with a disarming smile and a few obvious flirtations, you have another thing coming. It won't work on me, I'm immune."

Silently admonishing himself for feeling so much fear from her previous words, he instantly relaxed and let out a laugh. "Oh I'd hope so. I'm counting on it. I was hoping you'd be able to see past these good looks—that beneath this charming, extraordinarily handsome surface is a…delightful intellectual." He gave a sigh for dramatic effect.

She laughed, which is what he'd wanted in the first place. He found himself laughing as well.

"You're a git," she chuckled.

He shrugged as he turned the corner of the hallway. "Guilty as charged. But…anyway, I really have to be going. I'm headed into a meeting in a bit, but I'm glad I got to talk to you first. Hear your laugh—all that." This phone call had certainly turned his mood around. "But I'll definitely come in this weekend. That book is just calling my name."

"Have you even started reading the last ones you bought yet?" she asked, sounding skeptical.

"I have, in fact," he answered as he approached the elevators and pushed the button. "I started _Love in a Time of Cholera _that same day." The mentioned book was sitting on his bedside table in his suite at this very moment.

"And?"

_And the conversation picks up at the subject of literature. Of course,_ he thought to himself humorously. _Honestly, this girl and her books._

"I'm really enjoying it. But that's no surprise—you make very good recommendations. I'm lucky to have found you."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said softly.

"Are you working this weekend?" he asked. The elevator dinged as it arrived and he took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for another trip in the giant metal death trap. _Merlin's underpants, _he hated these things.

She told him that she was indeed working.

"Good," he concluded. "Then I'll see you when I get there."

"Alright."

"Alright. Have a good rest of your day, Joan."

"You too, Draco." Her tone sounded a bit sad, or maybe she was disappointed.

He held the elevator button, forcing the elevator to remain still until he finished the call. "Talk to you later. Feel free to call me again, if you'd like," he offered. "It's always nice to talk to you."

"Mmm-hmm."

_Huh. _Maybe she was busy.

"Bye," he added.

"Bye."

Draco hung up and slipped his mobile back into his jacket pocket, steeling himself for the elevator ride back down to the ground floor. He had made peace with Muggle aeroplanes, Muggle trains, and definitely had made peace with Muggle cars, but elevators? Not so much. A big metal box suspended sixty stories above ground by mere cables? So many things could go wrong, and he had no magic to save himself. Now if the elevators had been _enchanted_ to move up and down, then he wouldn't have been so worried. He sighed, taking a moment—for the hundredth time this month—to miss having magic. What he wouldn't give to simply _apparate_ to the ground floor! Then, clenching his fists, he entered the elevator. He held his breath the entire time, until the elevator safely arrived at the bottom.

He cleared his throat, relieved that Muggle technology had, again, delivered him safely to his location. Adjusting his jacket, he set out for his meeting.


	12. The Date

**Hello all! Don't worry, Hermione will reveal herself very soon. I know you're all waiting for it-I'm just as excited as ya'll are! But first, they have to go on their date! Here goes...**

Hermione stood in front of her mirror, inspecting her appearance. Her nerves were shot. She pulled her mass of curly hair—deep mocha brown, not her own honey brown—up into a ponytail, trying to keep her breathing calm. She wiped a smear of mascara from her eyelid and heaved a great sigh. She turned to the side, eyed her outfit, then faced forward again, before finally ripping off the blouse she was wearing.

"What am I doing?" she bemoaned.

She tossed the blouse onto her bed and approached her closet once more, sorting through her clothes with a _clack clack_ of the hangers slapping against one another.

_What was I thinking?_ She asked herself for probably the hundredth time that evening. _What was I thinking, agreeing to go to dinner with Malfoy?_

She finally settled on a soft gray, fitted sweater and she pulled it over the white tank top she wore. Looking in the mirror one last time at the jeans and gray sweater she now sported, she nodded with approval. _This is fine, right? Of course it's fine. I look fine. This is not a big deal. It's just a date. A date with Draco Malfoy. A date with Draco Malfoy who thinks you're someone else. A date as someone you're not._

Shaking her head, she released her hair from its ponytail and fluffed it before setting out for the kitchen to make a cup of tea. _Tea, a nice relaxing cup of tea—that's what I need._

As she passed the decorative mirror in her hallway, she paused. _Curse it all,_ she thought, picking up her hair for the second time that evening and starting to braid it. She continued braiding as she arrived in the kitchen, and paused only to fill the kettle and put it to a boil. When she finished braiding her hair, she glanced at the clock on her mantle.

_7:26,_ it read.

She had ten minutes before she needed to leave for the bookshop, where she had planned that afternoon to meet Draco. From there, they would go to dinner.

_"__Are you sure you don't mind if I leave a little bit early?" _she'd asked Marion after Malfoy left.

Marion gave her a knowing smirk. _"For heaven's sake, Joan. Go on your date. Have fun. Don't worry about the shop, I've been doing this for many, many years before you arrived."_

Hermione had nodded. _"Of course, of course. I'm sorry. It's not that I think you're incapable, or that I think I'm so important to this shop, I just…I just feel bad for leaving early. You're certain you don't want me to stay and help you close, though? I can. I can reschedule dinner. I wouldn't mind. I could—"_

Marion had given a great laugh at that. _"Joan Spinner. You go home right now. Go home right now, have a cup of tea—I know that will help soothe your British nerves—and get ready for your date."_

_"__Wait, you want me to leave right now? But it's not even five yet! I don't have to be anywhere until—"_

_"__Joan! Go home. Relax. And tonight, I want you to have fun. In fact, have as much fun as you can. I don't want to see you at this shop tomorrow until at least noon, if you get what I'm saying."_

Hermione produced a scandalized shriek. _"Marion!"_

Marion had only shrugged, her eyes twinkling with mischief. _"Go home, Joan. I mean it. And darling, try not to worry so much. It's only one date." _She'd patted Hermione's hand reassuringly, then disappeared behind the bookshelves.

Presently, Hermione sat statue still on her couch, waiting for her tea to steep. Her hair was braided, her outfit perfect, her makeup touched up. She bit at her lip, incredibly uneasy about the hours she had ahead of her.

_I have to tell him,_ she realized as she caught her reflection in the mirror across the room. Dark hair, hazel eyes, marble white skin, round cheeks—these features did not belong to her. _I can't do this—I can't deceive him. It isn't fair._

She liked Malfoy, and she knew that he liked her. She even _wanted _him to like her. She enjoyed talking with him, she liked seeing him, and she didn't want that to end. She'd seen a radically different side of him that she never knew existed and she wanted to keep getting to know him. So it came to this—she knew what she had to do. She had to be honest.

But…how?

Hermione ran through scenarios in her head during the entire ten-minute walk to meet Draco, fingering her coat button nervously as she did so.

"I have to come clean, and I hope you won't think of me differently," she mumbled aloud, trying to formulate some kind of speech. "Yes. I hope you won't think of me differently, but I understand if…" She shook her head. "No… Draco," she began again, "I have to come clean about something. Just hear me out before you say anything. I'm…not the girl you think I am. I'm not…who you think I am?" She groaned. "I'm actually someone you know from a long time ago. I'm…I'm…no. Okay. Draco, I need to admit something to you. I'm sure you'll be angry, but please hear me out. I'm… I know you think we met two weeks ago…" _Merlin, had it really only been two weeks? _"Okay. Draco, I know you think we met two weeks ago, but you've known me since you were eleven. It's me, I'm Hermione… No, that is so stupid! Okay. I have to admit something to you. I'm…I'm…"

"What are you mumbling to yourself about?" came a familiar voice, dripping with amusement.

Hermione gave a start, looking up to see Malfoy leaning against the front window of the bookshop with one hand in the pocket of his gray trousers. He was wearing a white dress shirt with the top button undone. He looked very relaxed, polar opposite of her. She looked around, confused. She had arrived already? Merlin's beard, she hadn't even noticed! She eyed Malfoy warily.

"Oh it's…it's nothing. Um…hello," she greeted him weakly.

His face melted into his trademark smirk.

"Hello, yourself. You ready to go?" he asked, pushing off of the wall and walking towards her.

She began to nod when he leaned down and kissed her cheek. Shocked, she froze, her cheeks beginning to turn a rosy pink color. She _hated_ that her body could give her away like that.

"I really love that blushing thing you do," he told her.

She lifted a hand to touch her cheek where he had kissed her. "Err…thanks…"

"You're welcome," he said, still smiling. "Shall we?"

She nodded again. "Yes. Let's go. Um…where exactly are we going?"

He pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. "I could tell you, but it would ruin the surprise, so I won't. I _will_ tell you that it requires driving, though."

She blinked, staring at him dumbly. "Driving?"

He nodded as they stepped off the curb and into the road.

"Do you mind?" he asked, glancing at her and looking slightly confused. "If we drive, I mean."

"Err…I'm sorry. No, I don't mind. Driving…driving a car?" she clarified.

He chuckled and gave her a look like _she _was the crazy one. Her! _Malfoy was driving a Muggle car, _and he thought _she _was crazy?

"Driving a car," he confirmed. "You've…you've heard of those, haven't you? Maybe seen a few of them around town? Four wheels, made of metal, typically square shaped, but there's these weird German ones that look kind of round. They make these whirring motor sounds, they honk sometimes…" He was teasing her, but there was no malice in his voice.

If someone had told Hermione thirteen years ago that Draco Malfoy would be driving her to a date in a car while he teased her _good-naturedly, _she would have insisted they seek immediate medical attention. And yet, here they were.

"I know what a car is!" she defended.

He laughed. "Okay, good. I was just making certain."

She scoffed.

"You just sounded kind of unsure there for a moment," he said with another shrug.

"I _wasn't,_ I'm just…" _I'm just kind of floored that you, Draco Malfoy, a pureblood wizard, want to drive in a car,_ she wanted to say. But she couldn't exactly say that, could she?

She settled with saying _never mind,_ instead.

Malfoy gave her a curious look as they proceeded to cross the street. Hermione followed his lead, her eyes wandering down the street at the cars parked along the road. She didn't have to wonder which car belonged to him for more than a moment. She guessed which one it would be before he even approached it. He pulled out a keychain, pressed a button, and the headlights blinked as the locks softly clicked.

"A Maserati?" she observed bemusedly, feeling no surprise whatsoever. "I should have guessed." It looked to be brand new—which, knowing Malfoy, it probably was—and the sleek, glossy, silver car glinted under the streetlights.

Malfoy frowned. "Why should you have guessed?"

The smile she was currently sporting dropped from her face and she looked away quickly, pretending to admire the vehicle. "I…I… you just…you seem like the kind of guy who likes nice cars," she said with what she hoped appeared to be a careless shrug.

"Oh, you know me so well already, do you?" he chuckled, opening the passenger door for her. She slid into the black leather seat and he closed the car door, and walked around to the driver's side.

_"__You have no idea,"_ she mumbled under her breath.

The drive wasn't too far, but it was right in the very middle of downtown, on one of the oldest streets in the city. He parked just down the street, and as they crossed the narrow road, Draco took Hermione's hand.

She hid a smile as she watched a compact car cross in front of them.

They approached a tall white, old-fashioned building with dark blue shutters. The ground floors of every building on this road were stores and restaurants—there was a pharmacy, a clothing department store, a café, a sushi bar—and there were two and three stories of flats sitting above them. Malfoy opened a large glass door for her, and she read the sign above the door that said _Le Comptoir des Saveurs_ in big, green, cursive writing.

"I've never heard of this place," she noted.

Malfoy looked ever so pleased at that. "This is one of the highest ranked restaurants in the city. The chef has won an assortment of awards. I've been here before, and I read through some reviews on the internet, I thought it sounded like a good place for you to try."

Hermione really had to get used to the fact that Malfoy used Muggle tools like the internet—but it was so weird hearing him talk about it so casually.

A petite young woman with bright red hair greeted them and led them to an intimately small, round table. She reminded Hermoine, with a pang, of Ginny. As they took their seats, she handed them each a small wine menu.

_"__Can I start you two off with a wine listing?"_ she inquired.

Draco looked up at Hermione from the menu. "What kind of wine do you prefer?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I like everything."

_"__May I suggest a light wine, then—perhaps a Pinot Noir. We have a a wonderful Pinot Noir from Bourgorgne featured tonight."_

Draco glanced at Hermione, who nodded, and Draco turned back to the waitress. _"Yes, that will do nicely—thank you."_

The waitress nodded and departed.

Hermione's eyes wandered around the restaurant. The lighting was dimmed, and she could hear the faint sounds of violin music in the background. Rich blue curtains were hung over the large windows that stretched across the front of the restaurant, and she watched the city move through the night—cars driving by, pedestrians crossing the street, couples walking hand in hand along the sidewalks…

Her eyes fell back to Malfoy, who was watching her with his head tilted slightly to the side. The corners of his lips twitched slightly as if he was fighting a smile.

"What?" Hermione asked, touching her hair self-consciously. Why was he staring at her like that?"

Draco shrugged and shook his head. "You look beautiful tonight. I like your hair like that. It's nice."

A smile blossomed on her face. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Malfoy glanced around the restaurant, looking thoughtful.

"There's no menus," Hermione observed.

"Nope," he acknowledged. "The chef prepares whatever dishes he wants, and that's what they serve," he informed her. "They'll probably ask us about food allergies, but other than that, it's all up to the chef."

Hermione frowned. "Interesting. That sounds very posh," she commented with a silly grin.

"Do you have any food allergies?" he asked her with a smile.

Hermione shook her head. "No allergies at all."

He nodded. "Me neither."

She'd figured. Wizards and witches had unnaturally good health, due to their magical abilities. They rarely got sick, they lived much longer than Muggles did—it was very common for a magical person to live to see their 150th birthday—and she'd never even heard of a witch or wizard who was allergic to anything before.

The waitress arrived with a bottle of wine, two crystal glasses, and a cheese plate. She announced the different cheeses—Saint-Nectair, Chevre, and Bleu d'Auvergne.

She set the items in front of Draco and Hermione before rattling off the featured dish of the evening. She asked them if they wanted one starting dish or two, and how many main dishes and tasting dishes they wanted. Malfoy had been right—she did ask them about any food allergies the chef should take into account. She looked very pleased to hear they had no allergy concerns.

Draco requested two of everything. The waitress thanked them and moved to another table.

"How will we ever finish all that food?" Hermione asked him with a laugh as she eyed the plate before them.

"Don't worry, each dish has only a small amount of food. The courses are more focused on taste and quality. They pair every dish with a glass of wine that compliments the course. Just have one or two bites of everything, don't try eating it all."

"So when did you become a connoisseur of French food?" she asked, amused.

"Well, I traveled here often with my family when I was younger, and my mother loved French food. I've always been fond of France, and I've lived here for a little less than a year and a half now. I have a lot of business meals with the corporate crowd," he told her with a roll of his eyes, "and if businessmen love one thing other than their money, it's fine dining. So I kind of have to know what places are good or not."

"Interesting. Have you eaten here often?"

He shook his head as he took a drink of his wine. Hermione tasted her wine as well and found that it was delicious—crisp and perfect.

"I've been here once with a German couple—a CEO and his wife." He forked a bit of Bleu d'Auvergne into his mouth.

"Huh. So _business,_" she stated curiously, sampling the Saint Nectaire cheese herself. "_Mmm," _she marveled. "What exactly does your work in business entail?"

Malfoy watched her eat with a glint in his eye and a smile on his face. "Stocks, trade, financial advising—the works. It's really rather boring when I go into detail, trust me. I'd much rather talk about _you,"_ he told her, leaning forward over their table. "I'm sure you're much more interesting for discussion."

Hermione swallowed nervously. "I…I don't really enjoy talking about myself."

Malfoy chuckled. "Well that makes one of us," he said. "Why don't you like to talk about yourself?" he asked curiously.

"Err…"

_"__Madmoiselle, Monsieur,"_ the waitress interrupted at what could not have been a more convenient moment. Hermione sighed with relief. The woman set two starting dishes down in front of them, clearing away the cheese plate.

_"__Noix de Saint-Jacques with an orange and carrot puree topping," _she announced, setting a small plate before each of them. _"And petit filet de cabillaud served on a bed of light risotto. This will pair nicely with your Pinot Noir," _she told them with a smile.

Hermione eyed the beautiful dish. _"This looks amazing," _she told the server in French. _"Thank you."_

The server nodded to both of them before leaving them to dig in. Malfoy had been right—the servings were very small. But they were perfectly presented, and they tasted delicious.

"This is the most amazing risotto I've ever had!" Hermione hummed after the first bite.

Malfoy smirked as he ate his food. "Good," he said. "So where were we—ah, yes. You hate talking about yourself. How come?"

Hermione shrugged as she forked up so more food. "I prefer listening to others, I suppose. Why don't you tell me more about you?"

"I'd be willing to trade an answer for an answer," he offered, eyeing her confidently.

Hermione swallowed her food. "I suppose that's fair," she agreed begrudgingly.

"Where in England are you from?" he asked.

"Islington," she answered before she could remember to lie. _Damn it, Hermione. You're supposed to be from Hertford._

"London?" he exclaimed, his eyes going wide. "Really? Interesting."

"And you?" she quickly asked, wanting to shift the focus off of her.

"Wiltshire," he said before setting down his fork.

Although Hermione had been taken to the Manor, she'd had no idea it was located in Wiltshire. The snatchers had apparated them to the front gate, but she had been too distraught by their capture to notice anything other than the ominous Manor looming over them. She shivered at the memory.

"Why did you start doing business here in France? Why not stay in Britain?"

His face darkened at the question. "My family's business was suffering. My father…my _family_ had a lot of enemies in Britain. I had no choice but to relocate our services to another country."

Her eyebrows rose. "Ah." She knew all about his family's _enemies._ She'd been one of them for most of her life, she supposed. This made her cringe, and she was hit with another wave of guilt at the reminder that she was deceiving him by sitting across from him here at dinner. She bit the inside of her cheek. "Well, you seem to be doing well now," she offered.

He nodded, relaxing only slightly. "I am. I've made a lot of changes to my family's company and branched out to a…different community now. We're prospering again."

Hermione didn't know what else to say. There weren't any further questions she could ask under the pretense of Joan Spinner. She focused on the food before her. She took one more bite before setting her fork down on the plate and resting her folded arms on the edge of the table.

Malfoy gracefully dabbed at his mouth with his black cloth napkin. "What about your family?" he asked. "Are they still in Islington?"

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. "No," she said quietly. "My parents died almost four years ago."

Malfoy slowly reached out and touched her arm lightly with a finger. She jumped at the contact and looked up at him in surprise. His expression was stoic.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he told her. "My father died last year. So I know…at least somewhat of your loss."

She was caught off guard by this new bit of information. Last she'd heard, Lucius had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. She had no idea he was dead.

"He did?" she asked.

Malfoy nodded. "Although I'm sure I don't understand_ exactly_ how you feel. My father and I…had a somewhat _complicated_ relationship. We were on horrid terms the last few years. I hadn't seen him in two and a half years, actually. He died in prison."

Hermione gaped. "I'm…I'm sorry that happened."

Malfoy shrugged, withdrawing from her. "My family is better off without him," he concluded.

Hermione didn't prod any further, letting the subject drop.

The main dish arrived a few minutes later—rabbit stuffed with escargots, which Hermione boldly consumed, and to her surprise, enjoyed—followed by agneau in a tangy sauce atop a bed of steamed vegetables. They ate in easy silence for a while, and between the two of them, finished an entire bottle of Pic-Saint-Loop wine.

The conversation reconvened about half way through the main dish, and soon they began to laugh and enjoy light-hearted topics once more. By the time the topic of their previous schooling came up, Hermione was too buzzed from the wine to be bothered about it. Hermione was too buzzed to be bothered about anything. Gone were her reservations and her frazzled nerves. She was completely relaxed and finally able to focus on simply enjoying Malfoy's company.

"I went to a boarding school in Scotland," Malfoy told her. "It was a really great school, I enjoyed my experience there—well, mostly. There were certainly some…tough times. Afterwards I took some business classes, but that was all the extent of my schooling. What about you?"

Hermione smothered a giggle at his understated _tough times at school._ Tough times indeed!

"Umm…Private school," she lied. "I graduated with high honors. I started medical training initially, but then I came here."

Malfoy looked perplexed at this. "Medical training? I wouldn't peg you for a doctor."

Hermione shrugged, her eyes on her dessert as she spooned syrupy pears and chocolate into her mouth. "I was quite good at it," she admitted. And she had been. She'd done very well in her training at St. Mungo's. No one had been surprised, least of all her trainers. Her reputation for being intelligent was known by pretty much everybody in the wizarding community. She'd finished training four months earlier than they had planned, and she was set to take independent shifts at St. Mungo's the day before she left Britain.

"I considered going into the medical field myself," he informed her.

"You did?" She hadn't known that!

He nodded. "I didn't have the temperament for it, though. My people skills were…not as developed when I was younger as they are now."

She had to agree with that.

"So if you were quite good at it, then why did you leave?" he asked after swallowing a bite of chocolate mousse.

At this, she sighed. "I was unhappy." That was the easiest answer, wasn't it?

"Unhappy, huh?" he repeated, nodding thoughtfully. "I can understand that."

Their eyes met. "You can?" she asked in surprise.

"Sure. Been through plenty of unhappiness myself," he laughed.

She tilted her head, leaning over the table towards him. "Do you think I'm crazy for leaving a medical profession to become a _bookshop_ girl?" Even _she _thought it was a _little_ crazy. Florence's jaw had dropped when it come out that Hermione had previously been training to be a healer—well, she'd used the title _doctor—_but had abandoned her career.

"Hey," Malfoy said, pointing his spoon at her with a stern expression, but a twinkle in his eye. "You're the best damn bookshop girl I've ever even _heard _of."

Hermione giggled at this. "I _do_ know a bit about literature."

"You know _everything_ about literature!" he clarified a bit too loudly, his arm reaching outward to emphasize his words.

An elderly couple sitting at the table beside them threw him a dirty look, and Malfoy had the decency to look embarrassed. _"Oops,"_ he whispered, leaning over the table and closer to Hermione.

Hermione's giggle turned into a full-blown laugh. "I wouldn't go so far as to say _that,_" she said. "That's a pretty bold statement."

"I'm a pretty bold guy," he said, as his eyes drifted downward to her lips. She realized their faces were only inches apart, and her stomach jumped at the thought of kissing him. Her face warmed and she looked downward to hide a shy smile.

Malfoy watched her for a few moments longer, a lopsided grin on his face, before leaning back in his chair. "I'm stuffed," he said.

Hermione nodded rapidly. "Me…me too," she agreed. "I couldn't possibly have another bite." She fingered her braid absently as she spoke.

He looked around before raising a finger to flag down their waitress. "Want any coffee?" he asked, turning back to Hermione.

She shook her head. "It's far too late in the evening for me to have any. Thank you though."

The waitress approached them.

_"__Everything was delicious,_" Malfoy told her. _"Give the chef my compliments. Can we please have the check?"_

The waitress nodded. _"Of course."_

Hermione reached into her purse for her wallet.

The waitress brought them a black folder with the check and set it on the table. Hermione and Draco reached for it at the same time. Their eyes met, and Draco frowned, looking very confused indeed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Paying for my half of the bill," Hermione answered, like it was obvious.

"What?" Malfoy laughed. "No you're not," he said, like it was the most absurd thing he'd heard all week.

Hermione bristled. "Don't laugh at me! And why ever not?"

"Because this is a _date_."

"And?"

Draco's eyes roamed down her face, looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. His lips quirked up into a half-smile. "You are…you are very different than anyone I've ever met before," he told her with admiration in his voice.

Hermione blinked. "Thank you…I think. But that compliment is not going to convince me to let you pay for all of this." She tugged at the folder containing the check.

Malfoy didn't release his hold on it. _"I_ invited _you_ to dinner. Therefore, I'm the one who's going to pay. It's basic etiquette."

"Basic etiquette?" she scoffed. "According to whom?" She tugged on the folder, nearly pulling it from Malfoy's grasp.

"Will you…" He looked a bit surprised by her firm pull. "Will you stop this?"

"No," she stated matter-of-factly.

He tried pulling the folder away, but she wouldn't let go.

"Seriously," he said, his tone sobering. "Let go."

"Oh, stop being such a prat."

"I'm not being a prat!"

"Stop being prideful, then."

"It isn't a matter of pride!"

She threw him a pointed look.

"Well… maybe it is. But only…a tiny, teeny bit of pride. Come on," he said, tugging on the book once more.

"Will you stop making this such a big deal?" she asked, frustration coloring her voice. "I want this to be fair!"

"Alright, alright," Malfoy said, holding up his free hand in surrender. "How about a compromise then?"

Hermione pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. "What kind of compromise?"

"Hear me out," he began. "I asked you to dinner, and then I chose the restaurant. I was taught that it was _my _responsibility to pay for the check under those conditions. So I am formally and _respectfully_—very respectfully," he emphasized, "asking you to allow me to pay for the check, and I will agree to let _you_ pay for the check on our _next_ date. Is that fair?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "What makes you think there's going to be a next date?" she teased, her smile giving her away.

His arrogant smirk was back, and his eyes roamed over her, head to waist, with a look that could only be described as hungry. "I'm pinning all my hopes on it. We can discuss books the entire time, if you'd like."

Hermione laughed. "So accommodating," she chuckled, but she still did not release the folder.

"And…and we can grab tea at a café after this," he continued, glancing at the folder they were currently playing tug-o-war with. "I'll even get biscuits, muffins, whatever you want. You can pay for the entire thing."

Hermione pursed her lips before deciding that wasn't a bad offer. "Alright," she agreed, letting go of the folder.

Malfoy assumed a very smug expression as he took the folder in his hands. He put a card into the folder before turning to watch Hermione with great fascination. "That was kind of hot, for some reason. I'm very confused now. I don't quite know why I liked that so much."

"Hot?" she repeated. "I didn't do it for you," she laughed. "I was only being fair."

"Hey, whatever you're motivations are, you keep doing what you're doing. I sure won't stand in your way."

They sat there, exchanging heated, suggestive looks until the waitress brought back the folder. He signed it, returned the card to his wallet, and rose.

"Tea?" he asked, offering her an arm. "Your treat, of course," he said with a mocking smile.

"Sure," she agreed, her insides turning a bit melty as she wrapped her arm in his. _I'll tell him later,_ she thought fleetingly. _I'll tell him who I am later._

And with that, they were out the door.


	13. The Tipsy Slip Up

**Here it is. The chapter you have all been waiting for. I hope you guys won't be terribly disappointed. A number of you have been trying to guess how this scene would play out, and I hope this doesn't let you guys down! But this was the second scene from the idea for this story that came to mind. I've been going over it again and again in my head, and I've been very eager to write it out. There's quite a bit of anger and threats in this chapter, but I think it's all very understandable for Malfoy to react the way he does when he thinks there is a threat to his safety and that of his mother.**

**Here goes:**

The cold night air that greeted them when they stepped outside made Hermione shiver, and Malfoy moved closer to her as they buttoned up their jackets. She grinned up at him. Thanks to that bottle of wine, she felt nothing but bubbling excitement and giddy joy. Her worries were miles away.

"So where to now?" Malfoy asked, pulling her close. "Your turn to pick—any café you want."

"Any café, huh? Anywhere I want?"

"That was the agreement," he confirmed as his lips grazed against her hair. "If you decide you want to go to a café in Paris—you say the word and I'll drive us there right now."

"You would drive us all the way to Paris?" she questioned dubiously. "That's four hours away! Hmmm…how about… oh, there's a very quaint little café I've heard about in Madrid."

"It's settled then. That's a far more practical location than Paris, anyway."

They laughed and he looped his arm around her shoulders when they crossed the street and began walking back to the car.

"We could make a night of it," he said with a smirk. "Hell, we could take off for the entire week if you wanted."

Happy little butterflies were flitting around in her stomach as she looked up at him and admired the way the yellow street lights cast shadows across his face.

He unlocked the car and opened the door for her.

"Oh, why thank you, good sir," she said dramatically as she slid into the car with as much flair as she could muster.

"You're welcome, mademoiselle," he replied, matching her tone before closing the car door. He crossed the front of the car to the driver's seat, grinning at her through the windshield.

She bit her lip and threw her head back onto the headrest. She was having so much fun with him. She felt so loose, so relaxed, so happy—and slightly warm and fuzzy. _Thank you, alcohol_.

As soon as he was in his seat, he turned to her and raised an eyebrow, swinging the car keys around his finger once before putting them in the ignition.

"So you want to make a night of it, huh?" she said through her own giddy grin.

Draco winked. "Of course I do."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at his blatantly flirtatious behavior. "Hmm… It sounds to me like you're being awfully _suggestive_, Mr. Malfoy."

She knew the minute the words left her mouth that she had made a grave mistake. It took a moment or two for her thoughts to catch up with her mouth, but by the time she realized what she had said, it was too late.

"Malfoy's smile didn't falter, but instead seemed to freeze on his face. His eyes instantly lost all trace of humor, instead going cold and hard. There was a long moment of silence as they stared at each other. With all the warmness evaporated from his eyes, the smile that was still plastered across his mouth looked cruel, and it made Hermione uneasy. It was enough to sober her completely.

He turned away from her—almost _painfully_ slow—and reached over to the ignition to turn off the car. As the engine sounds died down, Hermione—who feared almost nothing and no one in this world, who had fought in a war at a frighteningly young age, who had undergone multiple forms of torture before she was even really an adult—brave, fearless, brilliant Hermione, in that moment, felt _afraid_ of Draco Malfoy.

She shrank back just a fraction at the sudden change in his demeanor as she tried to figure out what to say next. "Draco," she began as the panic set in, "I can explain."

He hadn't moved after turning off the car. He was staring at the steering wheel and gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Hermione's heart rate picked up, and she could feel cold sweat prickling at her hairline.

"Yes," he said, speaking very slowly and sounding more like the old Malfoy she'd known in her youth. "I think you'd better."

She opened her mouth, but she had no idea where to start.

"I haven't gone by Malfoy since I left Britain, so that means you know who I am. And you know then, what a dangerous man I am. So I'm going to give you one chance to tell me who you are and what you want."

He turned to her, his narrowed eyes glinting in a very violent manner. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, and the car seemed particularly small at that moment.

He didn't give her the chance to speak before he continued, "Are you spying on me? Are you from the ministry? Here to keep tabs on me?"

Hermione frowned in confusion. "What? No, I'm—"

"Is this about my family, then?" He asked, his voice shaking with anger. _"What do you want?!"_ he yelled. "I haven't violated my parole, I haven't done anything wrong, _so why are you here?!"_

Hermione flinched as he leaned towards her. Parole? What was he talking about? "Draco, I don't know what you're talking about. If you'll let me explain...I...I'll...but you're scaring me!"

Merlin, he had a horrible temper. She couldn't have given herself away in a worst situation. They were all alone, in the middle of the city, on a dark street. He could drive her anywhere, and no one would look twice. He could curse her and might be able to get away with it. No one would know to come looking for her because no one knew she was in France. She instinctively wanted her wand. Her eyes dropped to her purse on the floor, where it was sitting safely in its undetectable pocket. She started to slip her hand down towards her bag. It she could only reach it…

"Oh no you don't," Draco growled, grabbing her by the arm and pushing her back against her seat with an alarming amount of force.

"Draco!" she protested, choking on her fear and outrage. He was too strong for her to beat in a physical altercation like this.

"If you so much as_ think_ of going for your wand, so help me—"

"Look…look, just so you know," she began rambling nervously as his grip on her arm tightened, "If you hex me or hurt me in _any way_—they'll…they'll know it was you. You don't know, I might very well have my contacts from the ministry waiting for me to check in with them. They'll know if they don't hear from me," she bluffed, hoping to scare him out of doing anything in anger. "Just…just calm down and let me—"

His face melted into an expression of self-assured gloating and he interrupted her. "You're _not_ with the ministry, then."

Uh oh. He was looking pleased with himself. That couldn't be a good sign when he was angry. "You…you don't know that for sure," she argued weakly.

"I do, I _do_ know. Because if you were," he snarled, "then you would know they confiscated my wand and put a bind on my magic. I couldn't hex you even if I wanted to. Which I don't, by the way," he added.

A wave of pity washed over Hermione like a tidal wave. _The Ministry had bound Malfoy's magic_? That was terrible! That was a horrible thing to do to a wizard! No wonder Malfoy used the internet and drove cars and lived a Muggle life—he had no choice!

"Alright," she admitted, slowly pulling away from his grasp. "I'm not with the ministry, okay? I was just... I'm…well…it's difficult to explain, it'd be easier to just show you, but I can't show you here. The street is too crowded—

He shook his head, squinting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I should have known. I can't believe that you're a witch! I should have expected this," he said angrily. _"Tell me who you are,"_ he ordered. Then his eyes narrowed. _"Are you an associate of the Nott family?_"

"The…what? No! Draco, listen to me! I'm Hermione Granger."

At this, Malfoy's eyes went from cold anger to blazing anger as he gave a mocking laugh. "How stupid do you think I am? I know what Hermione Granger looks like—I went to school for six years with Hermione Granger. And I may not be living in Britain anymore, my family may be barred from society, but I'm not so isolated that I don't know what's happening in the world. Even _I_ know that Hermione Granger has been presumed dead for well over a year. So if you expect me to believe—"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed hoarsely. Her blood ran cold. She was presumed dead? "What do you mean _presumed dead?_ Who thinks I'm dead?" she asked desperately, her voice resembling a shriek.

That shut Malfoy up, and he paused for a moment to study her before grabbing her hard by the arm again. _"If you're lying to me—"_

The revelation that she was presumed dead in Britain had finally shaken her out of her shock at Malfoy's behavior, and a surge of anger flowed through her. She snapped. She'd had enough of his horrible behavior.

"_THAT IS ENOUGH, DRACO MALFOY!_" she shrieked, wrenching her arm away from his grip. _"Shut up!_ If you don't get a hold of yourself and your _disgusting_ temper right now, so help me, I will hex you to oblivion! Even without my wand, I can still punch you in your _bloody ferret nose_ faster than you can_ blink_, and don't think I won't! I bloody well SHOULD punch you for how you've been treating me! _What is wrong with you?_ Your behavior is despicable! I'm trying to be reasonable here and you are acting like a bloody fucking child! If you would just stop for one, single moment—"

_"Granger?"_

At some point during her tirade, Draco had leaned backwards farther and farther until he was pressed up against the driver's side door in what looked like an attempt to get as much space between them as possible. He was now staring at her with a combination of shock and horror on his face—his gray eyes wide as saucers, his mouth hanging slack and open.

Hermione paused, caught off guard by the sound of her name. She blinked.

Draco's eyes roved down her body in disbelief before looking her in the eyes once more. "_Bloody hell_," he breathed. "It really is you."  
>Hermione frowned. "You <em>just<em> said you didn't believe it was me two seconds ago. What…"

Malfoy was blinking as though trying to wake from a dream. He slouched back into his seat, still staring at her. "I've been on the receiving end of your temper a few times in my life. It made an impression. Let's just say I'm qualified to recognize a Granger threat when I hear one."

Hermione gave a laugh of relief, but it sounded forced.

Malfoy was still confused. "Why do you look like…not…you?"

"I ran away," she said with a shrug. "I didn't want anybody to recognize me."

He gave a desperate, breathy laugh. "Well you… Yeah, you got what you wanted. How… You're not using Polyjuice Potion, are you? You can't use that every day. You're not, are you?" He asked, eyes bright with panic. "You can't use that stuff for prolonged periods of time, Granger! It can cause mutations and dysmorphia, not to mention the psychological _havoc_ it wreaks on your brain! Granger, you shouldn't—"

"It's _not _Polyjuice," she assured him with a shake of her head. "It's an enchantment."

Draco shook his head once, trying to keep up. "What… What sort of _spell_ can do…can make you look like… You don't even…" He seemed at a loss for words.

She heaved a great sigh. _Finally,_ he was listening to her. "It's a very old masking spell."

He looked skeptical. "I've never heard of any kind of masking spell that can do…this," he said, motioning towards her.

"Well I…I tweaked it a bit."

His blonde eyebrows rose. "You..._tweaked_ it a bit? You _tweaked_ an ancient masking spell?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

Draco suddenly looked very tired. He assumed an expression that made him look very overwhelmed indeed. "Wow. Well…wow." He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. "Hermione Granger, everyone," he said, motioning around to nobody. "Brightest witch of her age. If there were any remaining doubts, there it is."

"Oh shut up," Hermione snapped. "I'm so sick of hearing that," she muttered, rubbing her arm where he had grabbed her.

Malfoy sighed. "I'm…I'm sorry. Let me see. I'm…" He reached forward to pull her jacket off. She allowed him to remove her arm from its sleeve and pushed the sleeve of her sweater all the way up her arm, revealing bright red skin where his hand had gripped her. "That's probably going to bruise," he muttered. "I'm really sorry, Granger. I thought you were… I thought you were…" He shook his head. "I'm abominable when I'm threatened, I just…"

Hermione nodded, shaking him off and pushing her sleeve back down. "It's fine. Now, what do you mean I'm _presumed dead_?"

"You really don't know? Potter and Weasley—both of them actually, the sidekick _and_ the Potterette—they've been—"

"Potterette?" she repeated in confusion. "Do you mean Ginny?"

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, they got married a while back—"

"Harry and Ginny got _married_?!"she shrieked, stopping her motion to put her arm back into her jacket sleeve. "Married?!"

Draco stared at her, once again, unable to believe her reaction. "Have you not read a single wizard newspaper since you left?"

She shook her head. "No," she mumbled.

He whistled. "Damn, Granger. I just can't believe…" He paused, his face scrunching up. "Can you…can you remove your…spell? It's incredibly disconcerting to talk to you when you look like… I'm having a really hard time here."

Hermione nodded. "We should go somewhere else first, though," she said, glancing around at the dark street. There were the occasional pedestrians passing by, and although it wasn't _too_ busy, she didn't want to do magic in public.

"Alright," Draco agreed. "We can go to my chateau, but it's pretty far out in the country—it's quite a drive."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If that is your way of inviting me to come home with you, it won't work," she said, too overwhelmed to even enjoy making the joke.

The stress dissipated from his face and let out a surprised laugh. "I'm fairly certain you would hex me before I could get half way through making the offer," he retorted, his eyes soft and his smile lovely and warm once more.

Hermione pretended to think for a moment. "That's a safe assumption to make," she decided.

Malfoy shook his head. "This is… this is _so _weird."

"You're telling me," Hermione sighed. "I live just down the road from the bookshop, let's just go back to my flat," she decided. "Don't get any ideas," she teased, half-heartedly.

Draco turned the car back on once again. "Don't worry, I'm not even capable of that train of thought right now. I'm pretty distracted by the explanation you owe me." He threw her a meaningful look before focusing his eyes on the road.

Hermione bit her lip, disappointment sitting heavy in her gut. He was right, he was absolutely right, but… She looked out the window as they pulled away from the curb.

This was not how she had envisioned this evening to end.


	14. The Cold Hard Truth

The drive to Hermione's flat was silent and tense—very tense. The only words they exchanged were directions.

Draco opened the door of her apartment building and held it open for her. She mumbled her thanks and led him up the stairs. Once they reached the landing, she turned down the hall and they proceeded to make their uncomfortable walk to her door. She pulled out her keys, and after a brief struggle to unlock the door because of her frazzled nerves, they left the empty hallway behind them.

Draco closed the door behind him and turned to her, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He watched her suspiciously as she removed her jacket and hung it up. With a sigh, she pulled out her wand and closed her eyes as she held it to her head. _"Revelare Verum Sui."_

The familiar tingling sensation poured over her body. Knowing Malfoy's eyes were upon her, she felt the change much more clearly than she ever had before. Once the sensation had passed, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

Malfoy's eyes were wide. The tension had disappeared from his shoulders and his face was bare of any emotion other than shock.

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Say something," she whispered.

"It's you," he breathed.

She nodded. "It's me."

He seemed to shake himself from the trance he was in. "I mean…you look… I mean, you said…you told me, but I… You're just…" He shook his head. "You're…" He trailed off and swallowed thickly.

"First, I would like to say I'm sorry," she began. "I felt guilty the entire time for lying to you, but I just couldn't figure out what I was supposed to do. I'm…" she shrugged, feeling the hot sting of tears prick at the base of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she finished lamely.

Malfoy wouldn't look her in the eyes. He was staring at something… She followed his gaze to her left forearm, where the last three letters of her scar were peeking past the hem of her gray sleeve—looking almost just as red and horrible as it had the day after Bellatrix had given it to her. She hastily pulled her sleeve down to cover it, feeling very exposed. She cleared her throat.

He opened his mouth to say something but instead just let out a defeated breath. "Potter and the Weasleys have been searching for you since you disappeared," he told her very mechanically.

She almost toppled from the weight of the fresh guilt that set in.

"The Daily Prophet said you'd written Potter a letter saying you were going on holiday, but after a few weeks went by and no one had heard anything from you, Potter announced that he suspected the letter might have been forged and they started a nation-wide search for a little over a year," he continued stoically. "They didn't find you, obviously, and there was no trace of your magic—which led them to assume you'd been killed."

"I never registered my wand with the French Wizarding Embassy," she thought aloud.

He nodded. "That's very illegal, by the way," he added.

"So they couldn't trace my magic outside of Britain." Her thoughts came tumbling out of her mouth. "And I…I don't use enough magic here to be picked up by trace monitors," she realized aloud. _Oh god, what had she done?_

He paused before continuing. "They started saying you must have been murdered by a former death eater or one of their family members with a vendetta against you. There were hundreds of theories—the paper was always littered with them—but Potter never gave up. He did a lot of work with foreign wizarding embassies to try and find you, but nothing ever turned up. There was an article a few months ago stating he was rumored to have traveled to Australia on some supposed lead, but he does it on his own time and money. The ministry gave up a while after the first year. They closed your case and released a statement saying you were presumed dead."

Hermione's ears were pounding. She could hear the blood rushing in them; she could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage.

_Harry thought she was dead. Ron thought she was dead. So did Ginny and the Weasley family—oh god, Molly. Molly thought she was dead, too. _Hermione was like family—after losing Fred, she couldn't possibly imagine…

"I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered dizzily, reaching for the wall behind her. Malfoy stepped forward, taking a careful hold of her arms.

"Let's sit down," he said, guiding her to the couch across the room.

She let him lead her to the seat and she fell into it blindly. She couldn't believe how far things had gone.

"I never wanted them to worry," she sniffed. "I didn't think things would…" She shook her head as her eyes pooled over and a tear ran down her cheek. "I didn't want…I didn't want to hurt them. I just wanted to get away."

If Draco said or did anything after that, she took no notice. She was too preoccupied with imagining the nightmare she had unintentionally created for the people she cared most about. She had no idea how long she sat there like that, but eventually she realized something warm was being placed in her hand. She blinked, looking up to see Malfoy wrapping her hands around a steaming mug of tea.

She shot him a joyless smile as she accepted the mug gratefully and took a sip. She shook her head. "I don't understand. Why would they just assume I was _dead_? That's so…extreme. Does that not sound extreme to you?" she asked him.

Draco took a deep breath, acknowledging her point with a grimace. "Well… Do you remember Theodore Nott?"

She frowned. "He went to school with us, didn't he? He was in Slytherin? Why?"

He nodded. "Theo's father was sentenced to life in Azkaban for his crimes as a death eater, and… well, Theo went off the deep end. He blamed the community for his father's imprisonment. He was the only one of us—err, kids of Death Eaters, I mean," he added uncomfortably, "who showed no remorse and made no effort to change our way of thinking. He started using his basement to torture and slaughter Muggles and Muggleborns."

Hermione recoiled in revulsion. "That's…that's…"

Draco nodded somberly. "I…was actually the one who discovered it. That's why my magic was taken away."

Hermione blinked. "Wait, _what?"_

Draco looked immensely uncomfortable and shifted his position next to her on the couch. "I spent a fair amount of time with Theo after I was take off of house arrest. Him and Blaise were the only people who wanted anything to do with me. Theo and I were…friends," he admitted with a scowl. "One day we were at his house and I heard this…this scream. He tried to play it off like it was a prank or something, but it didn't sit right with me. Eventually I got past him and went to the basement. I saw it myself. It was…disgusting." He stared into space, his eyes taking on that haunted, cloudy look again. "He threatened to kill my mother if I reported him. I sent my mother away to Spain and then I went to report it, but he'd already been found out. He tried to name me an accomplice and I was arrested."

Hermione stared at him dumbly, her mouth hanging open in horror.

"Theo admitted to killing a considerable number of missing persons, and when they asked him if he had anything to do with your disappearance, he laughed and said he'd never tell. He was demented."

Hermione's hands were shaking. She set her mug on the coffee table in front of them, not trusting herself to hold it any longer.

"They tried to charge me with his crimes, but they didn't stick. They had no proof, and I had an alibi. And a very good defender," he added. "Harry spoke briefly on my behalf—said there was no way I could ever do any of that, but they took my wand and my magic for good measure."

"Draco," she whispered. "Draco, that's _terrible. _I'm so sorry. I don't… I don't even know what to say."

He shrugged, not looking up from his fixated gaze on the carpet by his feet. "You should probably write Potter," he said.

Her shoulders sank. "I'm afraid to," she admitted. "Especially now."

At this, Draco's eyes snapped up to hers. "We all thought you were dead," he stated angrily. _"Dead,_ Granger. _I _thought you were dead. I thought Nott had killed you. I spent a lot of nights wondering if he'd done it around the same time I had been in his house, visiting him—if…if maybe you'd been dying while I was there, in that very same house. Do you know how—" he cut off, rising to his feet. He put his hands in his trouser pockets, and his jaw muscle tensed. "I blamed myself, you know," he said, facing the wall and not looking at her. "I thought maybe I had stood nearby and allowed you to be tortured for the second time in my life. It kept me up at night. I never made peace with it. After the Manor, I…" He trailed off before turning around to look at her, disapproval all over his face. "And you were here the entire time—_hiding._"

She shrank at his words.

"The very _least_ you can do, Granger, is write the people you love. At least write the one person who has never given up searching for you." He rubbed his hand across his jaw. "I may not like Potter much, but even I can see that especially after everything he's lost in his life, he certainly doesn't deserve this as well."

And with that, he turned towards the door.

Hermione rose to her feet. "Where are you going?" she asked, panic rising through the torrent of emotions swirling around inside her, threatening to smother her.

"I need some time to think," he announced without looking back. He slammed the door behind him.

Hermione sat back down on the couch, hugged a throw pillow to her chest, and cried. She was disgusted with herself, with how selfish her decisions had turned out to be, with what a terrible friend she had been. She glanced over at her desk, where an unfinished letter to Harry from her first month here sat in the top drawer, and she cried harder. She curled up into a ball and sobbed for well over an hour, until there was nothing left within her—until she was so completely drained that she lost consciousness altogether.

She stayed on the couch all night, deep in sleep, her body too worn out to move.

When the gray light of morning woke her early the next day, in her state of distress, she didn't notice that someone had been back to cover her with a blanket.


	15. Books and Alcohol

The next morning was a disaster from start to finish. Hermione had sat on her couch staring into space until it was almost noon, tormenting herself with thoughts of Draco's revelation from the previous night.

She couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Harry was still searching for her. It was difficult enough to wrap her head around the fact that everyone thought she was dead, but the fact that Harry was still searching the world for her was enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes. She wasn't surprised that he had refused to give up looking for her—Harry was the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had. Hermione had never doubted him, had never given up on him. She had been there for him as well as she could since the day he'd saved her from that troll in the girl's bathroom. They would have done anything for each other. They'd been through experiences together that had created an indescribable bond, an unbreakable friendship. If Harry had disappeared and someone thought he'd been killed, Hermione would have searched for him until she found him, too.

Draco was right. She needed to contact him. But how and when? The thought of writing him a letter overwhelmed her, and she couldn't just go back to Britain and show up at his doorstep. A fire-call hardly sounded appropriate… She pushed her questions out of her head. It was too much to figure out right now. Draco _was_ right, but she needed some time to decide the best course of action.

Draco—she was amazed at everything he had been through in the last few years and how much he had changed. She remembered the desperate look in his eyes when he told her he blamed himself for her supposed death. She'd had no idea he felt so guilty for what had happened at Malfoy Manor.

She could picture his face that horrible night at Malfoy Manor in her head perfectly. She had looked up when Bellatrix had been torturing her, just for a moment between the many _crucio_s Bellatrix cast. Malfoy had been standing across the parlor, his face ashen and his eyes wide. Their eyes had met and she'd tried to send a silent plea for help—she would have accepted help from _anyone_ in that moment.

_Crucio!_

She had heard, rather than felt, the violent scream that burst out of her mouth, causing her throat to burn. Her back had arched up off the cold wooden floors and her vision had gone black. Bright stabs of color burst from behind her eyelids as the pain ran white-hot through her body.

Bellatrix had let her rest for a few seconds before questioning her again. As she circled around her, Hermione's eyes had fluttered open to the spot where Draco was standing. Her vision had focused for just a moment. He was shaking his head, watching her with apparent horror on his face. Then he had turned away, and her vision had blurred once more.

_I thought maybe I had stood nearby and allowed you to be tortured for the second him in my life. It kept me up at night. I never made peace with it._

Hermione rubbed her eyes, feeling that familiar pain in her head beginning to throb just above her left eyebrow. It was where she always got headaches when she was stressed. She let out a groaning sound. She had slept the whole night through, but didn't feel like she'd gotten much rest at all. She had an emotional hangover—the worst kind of hangover, because there was no easy cure for it.

Despite the fact that she would rather have taken a personal day, she couldn't bring herself to shirk her responsibilities at work. She had already let down everyone she cared about in her life, and she couldn't stand the thought of failing someone else again today. So ten minutes before noon, she rose from the couch and headed in.

She entered the bookshop and was headed straight for the register counter when Florence approached her.

_"Hello, can I help you?" _she greeted, offering a professional smile.

She frowned in confusion. _What?_ And that was when she realized that she had forgotten to cast the spell on herself that morning before leaving her flat.

Her eyes widened. _"Excuse me,"_ she muttered, before turning to run out of the store.

It was truly a testament to how completely distraught she was that she could forget such a _crucial_ daily morning routine. She'd even spent a particularly long time brushing her teeth that morning _directly_ in front of the bathroom mirror, and still had somehow managed to forget.

Once outside, she inspected her messenger bag—she'd left her wand at home. _Perfect._

So she trekked all the way home, changed her top, and muttered the spell quickly before she headed out the door.

Arriving once more at work, now almost thirty minutes late, she approached the counter again.

"Joan!" Florence squealed upon seeing her. Her heart sank slightly at the knowledge that Florence only knew her as a stranger.

"Hey," she greeted.

Florence's eyes widened. "Oh my god. You look like shit! Are you okay? What happened? Did your date last night not go well? You've never been late to work before! Not that Grandmere will mind—she adores you." She reached up and felt Hermione's forehead with the back of her hand. "Are you sick?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm fine, Florence. I just…I received some bad news last night. I'd rather not talk about it. I just want to get to work, if that's alright."

Florence's forehead wrinkled in worry. "Okay…"

She walked past her and set out to throw herself into her work.

"Joan!" Florence called after her.

Hermione turned around.

"Um…Draco called for you this morning. He wanted to meet you for lunch, but I told him you weren't due to come in until noon. He asked you to call him later." She offered her a small smile.

She nodded. "Thanks."

Well, at least he wasn't avoiding her, but she wasn't sure she could face him right now—not even in conversation. She had too much on her mind.

With a sigh, she picked up a box of new arrivals and set it carefully on the counter. She opened the cardboard flaps, inhaling the comforting scent of new paper. _Time to sort through some books._

Just outside the city, miles away, Draco was having a terrible morning as well. He hadn't slept well the night before, unable to push away memories of Granger being tortured on the parlor floor of the Manor. He'd felt so helpless, so trapped, and utterly _useless_ that night.

His mother had gripped his shoulder tightly. "_Be certain before you say it's him, Draco,"_ she told him as he looked into Potter's distorted and swollen face. Her voice was calm and quiet, each word spoken very clearly, and it had been very unlike his father's tone, which had been rushed with frantic desperation. She said each word very carefully, and later when he thought about it, he wondered if she hadn't actually wanted him to identify Potter at all.

Then he had been forced to stand there as Bellatrix dragged Hermione across the floor by her hair and performed the Cruciatus curse on her over and over again. He watched in horror as the strong, proud, stubborn, brilliant girl he'd gone to school with for his entire adolescence screamed and begged through shuddering sobs for her to stop. It felt so terribly _wrong_ to see her having to plead for mercy like that. Sure, he hadn't exactly been Granger's biggest fan. She was, more often than not, a thorn in his side—a constant reminder that he just wasn't good enough—but he couldn't help but hold a certain level of admiration for her. She had such a fierce spirit, and it was being broken—right here in his own home. Then Bellatrix had pulled out the knife and marked Granger forever.

He'd felt such relief at seeing Hermione alive again. It was a huge weight off his shoulders to know that she hadn't met her demise because of his inaction. The scar was still there on her left arm—he'd seen it last night. He couldn't help but stare when it peeked out from beneath her sleeve. He didn't know why he was so surprised to see it. He knew Bella had used a cursed knife, he knew it would be there forever—it was the same kind of magic that had put the Dark Mark on his own forearm. But seeing it again made him feel like a bucket of ice water was being dumped over his head.

There was no denying it now. Joan Spinner was Hermione Granger.

He didn't quite know how he felt about that.

He hung up from his second business call of the day and leaned back into his leather chair. He pushed his hair back on his head, an old habit that he took to when he was under great duress. It was a wonder he hadn't gone bald by now.

He began looking through various financial papers, frustrated at his unusual ability to focus on the work at hand. Thoughts of Granger plagued his mind.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the bottle of whiskey sitting on his cabinet across the room. Biting the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, he considered just giving up on his work for today and getting utterly smashed instead. He knew he was prone to drink—it was something of a family trait. His father had always done it, and he had drunk himself to an absolute _waste_ during the time that Voldemort was using their home as his headquarters. Draco remembered distinctly the way his breath rank of alcohol, how bloodshot his eyes were, and how he was even more prone to violent outbursts towards Draco and his mother.

Draco didn't want to end up that way. He shook his head.

_Damn that Granger girl!_

He threw his papers down onto his desk with a loud slap of his palms against the desk and reached for his mobile instead. Searching through the history, he located the number she'd called him from on Friday.

It rang twice before that annoying younger employee answered it.

_"This is The Drowsy Poet, you're speaking with Florence. How can I help you?"_

"Hello, Florence—this is Draco. I'm looking for Gr…err…Joan," he corrected.

"Oh." Florence sounded thoughtful. "She's not here."

Draco sat up in alert. "She's not at work?" It was extremely uncharacteristic of Hermione to not go into work. If she wasn't there, then there might be something wrong…

"Um, I think she's coming in soon, she's just scheduled a little later than usual today."

"Ah," he acknowledged, visibly relaxing. "I was hoping I could catch her on her lunch break."

"Well I'm pretty sure she's not going to be here until noon. That's what Grandmere said."

_Who is Grandmere?_ He considered asking. _Never mind, I really don't even care, _he thought irritably. "Will you just have her call me when she gets in? Or later this evening?"

"Sure," Florence responded brightly.

Draco thanked her briskly and hung up.

He rose from his chair. Maybe he would have that drink after all.


	16. Pride and Lust

Three days came and passed, and Hermione still hadn't contacted Malfoy. She hadn't done much of anything besides work herself half to death. She arrived every morning at _The Drowsy Poet_ before Marion, and she left long after close each night. She didn't take lunch breaks. Aside from customer interactions, she didn't say much of anything to anyone. She went over the entire contents of their inventory- twice. She updated their budget. She thoroughly combed over their monthly expenses. She slowly cleared and dusted every bookshelf in the store. She re-organized their display cases. She cleaned the windows. She emptied the cash register counter and deep cleaned every crook and cranny. She even went through the office—previously so full and disorganized that Marion had given up any kind of sorting system long ago—and emptied its entire contents before deep cleaning that, too. And she did all of this only when she wasn't helping customers and handling purchases. Although Marion was pleased with the results of Hermione's newfound focus and hard work, both she and Florence could tell something was not right. They were concerned, but whenever they attempted to confront her about it, she brushed it off and avoided the subject.

The morning and evening rush had come and gone, and the shop was almost completely empty as it was approaching closing time. Hermione was currently sitting in the office, bent over Marion's desk. She was formulating a study plan for the next few weeks' worth of Book Club meetings when she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. She jumped, startled, and looked behind her to see Marion.

_"Joan, I am worried for you," _she told her gently. _"You are working even harder than you usually do—a feat even _I_ thought to be impossible. You are especially quiet and withdrawn this week. You don't look well. You keep telling me you are fine, but I don't believe you."_

Hermione shrugged. _"Marion, I appreciate your concern, and I really am alright. I am. I just…_" She trailed off. _"I have some personal issues to sort out and there are some things I prefer to keep to myself."_

Marion watched her intensely, her blue eyes twinkling in a way that reminded Hermione very much of Dumbledore. _"You have a very old soul for such a young woman,"_ she observed. _"I often wonder what kind of life you have lived."_

Hermione focused on the wall behind Marion, unable to maintain eye contact comfortably.

At her continued silence, Marion finally heaved a deep sigh. _"Do you need some time off?" _she asked. _"A personal day? Maybe two? If you need a week to work through whatever it is that's going on with you—"_

Hermione looked up at her with panic. _"No!"_ she exclaimed. _"No, I like being here. I enjoy working. I…I would prefer to stay busy."_

Marion laughed. _"At the rate you're getting things done around here, there won't be anything to stay busy with for much longer!"_

Hermione chuckled. _"I tend to fall into my work when I'm…when I'm upset,"_ she admitted.

_"So I noticed,"_ Marion replied. _"Well, if you need anything, Joan, I am your friend in addition to being your employer. I hope you know that."_

She nodded. _"I do. Thank you."_

Suddenly Florence came tearing into the office. _"He's here!"_

The smile on Hermione's face melted away and her previously calm heart started beating faster. "Draco?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Florence just grinned.

Hermione tried to sneak a look past her shoulder, and Marion watched their antics with amusement all over her sweet old face.

_"You two got in a fight, didn't you?"_ Florence said. She shook her head. _"That sure was fast," _she marveled. _"You two didn't waste any time. One date and you're already having a lover's spat."_

"It isn't a _lover's spat_! It's…we just…it's complicated."

At this, Florence scoffed and rolled her eyes. "_Everything_ is complicated when it comes to you."

_You really have no idea, Hermione thought. "Can you…does he know I'm here?" _she asked, feeling the walls begin to close in on her.

Florence nodded. _"I told him I would inform you of his arrival, so…yes."_

"_Florence,_" she groaned.

"I'm sorry! You didn't tell me you were avoiding him! You need to give me warning in advance if you want me to lie for you," Florence said with a pout. "What did he do anyway?"

Hermione sighed. "Nothing. He didn't do anything. It was…just…never mind."

Marion watched their interaction with a smile. _"Joan, I suggest you get whatever he wants to discuss with you out of the way. Go on," _she encouraged. _"We are closing in a few minutes anyway. You've done enough today—I think Florence and I can manage locking up without you."_

Hermione's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Yeah, alright. I'll just…go." She slipped past Florence in the doorway, and set out to find Draco.

She didn't have to look for long. He was standing at the cash register, studying a book display case with great interest.

"Here for another book?" She asked jokingly. The last thing she felt like doing was making a joke, but she didn't know what else to say to him.

His head whipped up to her. His eyes wandered down her appearance—head to toe—and for just a second, he looked excessively uncomfortable. But the expression passed in a moment, and he quickly put on a rather careless looking smirk. "Not exactly," he said.

Hermione didn't know what else to say, so she stayed silent. She toyed with a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater.

Malfoy took a deep breath. "How are you?"

Hermione shrugged. "Good," she answered with a nod.

He snorted. "You've been avoiding me," he accused. His eyes narrowed, but his smile was still in place.

"I…That…" Hermione was at a loss for words. Anxiety was crawling through her body. She tried to change the subject. "How has your week been?" she asked.

Malfoy looked amused by her rapid change of subject. "Terrible," he answered. "What about yours?"

Hermione blinked at his honesty. "Productive."

He nodded. "So…"

"So," she repeated.

A silence settled heavily between them, and Hermione grew increasingly nervous when Malfoy didn't take his eyes off her for a second.

Malfoy was the first one to break the silence. "I'm hoping my week is about to turn around, though."

"Why is that?" she finally asked him with a small smile, feeling those familiar warm fuzzies she always got in her chest when he was around.

He shrugged. "I have a date tonight."

It was like Hermione could physically feel her hopes and dreams being crushed. Her heart sank. Her first thought was that Malfoy had come in _just _to tell that he had a date with someone else planned for this evening. How dare he! Her second thought was _of course._ She should have expected he would want to see different people once he found out who she was.

"Oh," she said. Unable to remain silent when she was so angry, she pressed further. "Then why are you here?"

"Well, she was very adamant about being the one to pick the place—and pay—so I figured I'd just meet her here." His eyes glinted with mischief.

Hermione frowned as she put his words together before her face broke into a sheepish grin. "You're referring to me, aren't you?"

"_There's_ my brilliant little witch," he teased.

"Shhh!" she looked around nervously, worried someone would overhear them.

Malfoy made a zipping motion across his lips. "I believe you promised me a second date."

"I don't remember promising anything," she snarked, feeling giddy.

He pretended to look thoughtful. "I'm almost certain you did," he insisted.

She gave a happy sigh. "You still want to go out with me?" she asked.

"Most definitely," he told her. "But there's one tiny problem, of course."

She peered at him skeptically. "A problem?"

"I was hoping to go for drinks with a certain girl by the name of Hermione Granger." He looked around the shop. "I don't see her anywhere. Can you maybe pass the message along?" he mocked.

Hermione laughed. "I'm pretty sure I could find her for you."

"You'd be the only one," Malfoy joked.

Hermione blushed, a bit embarrassed at his words.

Malfoy leaned back against the counter. "When do you get off?" he asked.

"I already am."

"Perfect," he concluded. He extended his arm. "Shall we?"

She went behind the counter and grabbed her bag, then accepted Malfoy's arm.

"So where are we going?" he asked as he held the door open for her.

She took a deep breath of cold air, exhaling slowly. She watched her breath form a small cloud that was released into the night. "Want to grab drinks at the pub down the road?" she asked. She could use a good drink after all the stress that had been building in her chest the last few days.

"I won't say no to that," Malfoy agreed. "Is it within walking distance?" When Hermione nodded, he motioned towards the sidewalk. "Lead the way."

They set on down the street, walking quietly. Their hands brushed lightly against one another and Hermione bit her lip to hold back a silly grin.

"Can I ask you something?" Draco asked suddenly. "Do you ever get tired of looking like someone else?"

Hermione glanced up at him. He was watching her curiously. She nodded. "Quite often."

"Then why do you do it? Why not just…stop hiding?"

"I couldn't exactly go into work tomorrow morning, looking like myself and say _'Hey Florence! Hey Marion! It's me, I had plastic surgery overnight!'"_

Malfoy chuckled. "Fair point."

"I suppose I… Things just spiraled a bit out of control. I decided I want to start over somewhere new, and I wanted to be someone else. The role I played in the war—it's not all I am, you know? I'm not _just_ the best friend of Harry Potter, member of the golden trio. I'm a person, too. But no matter where I went, all people saw was _the most brilliant witch of her age._ I was always in the spotlight. I hated it. I missed being unknown. So at first I disguised myself so I could have a relaxing vacation without running the risk of being recognized. After a few weeks, I realized I didn't want to go back. I wasn't ready. So I just…kept going. I found a more permanent method of hiding myself. I wasn't really planning ahead, I was just doing what felt right for me."

Malfoy regarded her thoughtfully. "I know what you mean about having people define you by your reputation. That's the same reason I came here as well. It's why I changed my name."

"You didn't change your appearance though," she noted, giving him a playful nudge.

He looked scandalized. "And do away with these good looks? I don't think so."

Hermione laughed, loud and hard, at that. They passed an empty alleyway, and she stopped. "Hold on a second," she said. She approached the dark alley, reaching into her messenger bag. After looking around to make sure no one was there, she pulled out her wand.

Malfoy picked up on what she was doing and scanned the streets. "You're all clear," he told her.

She lifted her wand, muttering the counter-spell and waiting for her natural appearance to return. "Better," she concluded, tucking her wand safely back into her bag. She looked up at Malfoy to find him watching her with a very intense expression of wonder.

"What?" she asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I just… It's still kind of unbelievable."

She began to smooth down her hair. Using magic on her appearance always made it a little more frizzy than normal.

"Stop," he laughed, stepping forward. "You're hair is fine. _Nothing_ like it used to be in school."

"Hey!" she exclaimed, giving him a good jab in the ribs with her finger.

"Ow!" he protested, still laughing. "Hey, watch it! I'm ticklish."

She narrowed her eyes. "_Draco Malfoy_ is ticklish? The Prince of Slytherin? I would have never guessed."

"Well don't tell anyone," he said, taking her hand in his. "Or I'll be the laughing stock of the Wizarding World."

She stared at his hand in hers and smiled to herself as they resumed walking together once more.

They finished their journey in comfortable silence. Hermione had to fight very hard to keep her smile from overtaking her face whenever Draco brushed his thumb along the back of her hand. Her entire body was abuzz with warm and happy tingles.

"Here we are," she announced once they arrived at their location.

"_La jambe de la fée?"_ He read the sign in disbelief. "The fairy's leg? Granger, I would have never expected you to be a regular at a pub."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "I'm not a _regular, _but I have been here a few times. It's quaint!"

His eyes roamed over the building. It was a dimly lit, snug little place—just a hole in the wall, really. "That it is," he confirmed, "but a pub? _You?"_ He pulled back to narrow his eyes at her, his mouth turning up in a knowing smirk. "Are you intending to get me drunk so you can take me home with you?"

Hermione laughed. "If I was, I'd never tell."

"Granger, you're positively _devious!"_

"Shut up," she chuckled. "Come on." She reached for the door handle and pulled it open. Draco grabbed the door and held it open as she entered before following himself.

There was soft jazz music playing, as a woman's smoky voice sang along in French. It wasn't very busy—it was a Thursday night, after all—but it definitely wasn't empty. The customers were an odd mix of different kinds of people—all ages and ethnicities, from all different walks in life. There was a small group of very old men, chatting and laughing together. There was a man in a crisp suit sitting at the bar, and a rather shabby looking older woman sitting alone at a table. There was a couple sitting close together in a booth, three young ladies cackling loudly at their table in obnoxious gossipy tones, and four young men animatedly discussing what sounded like a sports match of some kind.

"This place is…interesting," Draco announced, eyeing the various framed still-shots and paintings that littered the walls. "I like it."

They sat at a table in the corner, and Hermione shrugged out of her blue knit sweater. "What do you drink?" she asked.

Malfoy sighed. "Oh, what I wouldn't give for some firewhiskey."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm afraid I can't do anything about that right now. Sorry."

"Muggle whiskey just doesn't really compare," he lamented. "What will you be drinking?"

"I'm just going to have a glass of wine," she decided. "Alcohol and I don't mix particularly well."

He nodded. "I'll have a glass, too."

She smiled and disappeared to get their drinks. Malfoy pulled off his overcoat and shrugged out of his suit jacket before draping them carefully on the chair beside him. He unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt and leaned back into his seat, allowing his body to relax.

Soon enough, Hermione returned with two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, and another glass filled with amber colored liquid.

"What's this?" Malfoy asked, pointing to the shot glass.

"Cinnamon whiskey," she answered brightly. "Try it."

He eyed the glass warily before shooting it back. He looked thoughtful for a moment, pursuing his lips. "That's not half bad," he told her. "Closest thing to Firewhiskey I've been able to find, at least. Thank you."

She assumed a proud smile as she sipped her wine. "Not a problem," she said cheerily.

"So you want to tell me why you've been avoiding me all week?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

Hermione choked on her drink. "Well," she began as she wiped her mouth, "I was afraid to talk to you, if I'm going to be honest."

"Because you revealed your most carefully guarded secret in a drunken slip?" he teased.

"I…I wasn't _drunk,_" she insisted.

"Even worse, then," he laughed.

She sighed. "I _was_ planning on telling you. Really, I was…eventually."

"How long was _eventually_ going to take?" he asked curiously.

She shrugged. "Whenever I got up the courage."

"When you got up the courage?" he repeated, his voice tinged with amusement. "I wouldn't expect you'd need to try very hard at that. You're a Gryffindor, after all. No shortage of bravery in _that _house."

She blushed. "I think I may be a little less brave than you would expect."

He rested his arm on the table and leaned forward. "I doubt that."

She went quiet.

"I am a bit miffed with you, though," he admitted. "If we're being honest."

She bit her lip. "I knew you would be. I was afraid you'd be furious when I told you who I was. That's why I kept putting it off."

He nodded. "I'm not angry. I mean, I _was, _obviously. But it's because I didn't know exactly who you were, just that you'd been pretending to be someone else. How's your arm, by the way?" he asked, his forehead wrinkling in concern.

She waved him off. "Don't worry, my arm is perfectly fine."

He nodded. "Sorry for scaring you in the car that night. And man-handling you."

"Sorry for lying to you about being someone I wasn't."

"Well I think that makes us square then, I'd say. Cheers." He lifted up his wine glass and clinked it softly against hers. "Have you given any thought to what you're going to do now?"

Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "About Potter."

Her face fell, settling into one of stubborn resolution. "No."

"No?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, yes! I mean, yes, I've thought about it. I've been thinking about it all week. Of _course_ I have. How could I not?" She ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass. "But if you're asking me to what consensus have I arrived, then…" She shook her head. "None. I don't even know where to begin."

"Do you want to go back to England?" he asked.

Her eyes widened considerably at the suggestion. "Merlin, no! No I'm… I like it here. I don't… I don't have anything to go back to, anyway."

He sat back in disgust. "Nothing to go back to?" he repeated.

She wouldn't look up at him, instead fixating her stubborn focus on the table before her.

"Granger, are you even listening to what you're saying? You have nothing to go back to? You have far more than I have! You have a life full of people who care about you, who are worried for you, who are _looking_ for you."

He paused, but when she said nothing, he continued. "Even _I _know the Weasleys loved and treated you like one of their own. And you… What, you have _nothing_ to go back to?"

"So you're telling me I have to go back then, is that it?" she returned hotly.

He blinked. "What? No, this has nothing to do with me, Granger. I'm just… I can't believe what you're saying. I can't believe you'd rather hide here under the pretense of being dead while the people who love you are _mourning _for you. It's the most selfish thing I've ever heard. It's your decision, of course. I'm not…" He stopped, looking rather horrified before he rubbed a hand over his face. "_Merlin's beard,_ _am I trying to give Hermione Granger moral advice_? What has this world come to? I'm a _Slytherin, _for crying out loud, not a Hufflepuff! I refuse to discuss this further, I'm done for today. You'll be the death of me, I swear," he ranted, downing the remainder of his wine.

Hermione's lips twitched as if she was fighting a smile.

"Oh you think this is funny, do you?" he asked. "You think it's funny that you affect my poor nerves in this way?"

Now she was biting her lip, trying in vain to hide any trace of amusement.

"Don't you _dare_ laugh at me, Granger," he warned, pointing a finger at her.

She shook her head, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

"Don't laugh, or I will be forced to embarrass you for the sake of my pride." He rested his elbow on the table, still pointing a finger at her face. "Don't. You. _Dare."_

A small giggle escaped.

"That's it," he decided, sitting back. "That's it. You're in trouble now." He reached down to pick up his suit jacket and overcoat. "You'll be the end of me, little girl. First, you get me to tell you about my secret crush on you at Hogwarts under the pretense of someone else—that was strike one," he ranted, slipping his arms into his suit jacket. "Then you argue with me when I tried to pay the bill at dinner—strike two." He stood up, pulling on his overcoat. "Now you turn _me _into the king of moral lectures. Strike three. But _then_ you have the audacity to laugh at me? The first few, I was willing to forgive. The last one—no one laughs at Draco Malfoy."

At this, Hermione dissolved into laughter, unable to hold herself together any longer.

Malfoy watched her in amazement, his eyes glinting with humor. "That's it," he concluded. "Get over here." He reached for her and she squeaked in protest.

Then he promptly threw her over his shoulder.

_"Draco!"_ she shrieked. "Draco, what are you doing? _We're in a public place! Draco!"_

Everyone in the pub had stopped to turn and stare at them. The bartender had stopped in the middle of pouring a drink. All conversations had died, and all eyes were on them.

Malfoy turned to face them, clearing his throat and addressed them all. "This girl has thoroughly misbehaved, and I think it's time I take her home," he announced loudly.

Hermione stopped wriggling on his shoulder and her jaw dropped open in humiliation. Her cheeks burned. She couldn't believe he was doing this!

_"Draco!"_ she hissed.

"She is indeed," he continued to inform the customers, "_quite_ drunk."

_"Malfoy!" _she objected, beginning to kick. _"You let me down right now. You let me down, or—oof!"_ He tossed her upwards, adjusting her position on his shoulder.

"Time to go, now," he told her loudly, turning towards the door. "Time to get you home, you sorry,_ sorry_, drunk little girl."

_"I am not drunk!" _she argued. _"I'm not even—"_ she dissolved into giggles. "Draco, wait! My sweater! My bag!"

He turned back and, with a bit of a struggle, picked up her sweater and her bag.

"No arguing, Princess,"he told her loudly.

Everyone was staring with confused little expressions on their faces—some even appeared entertained. And although she was thoroughly humiliated, Hermione couldn't stop the laughter that was coming out of her mouth.

He carried her out of the bar on his shoulder like that, and continued walking down the street with her in tow.

"Malfoy!" she shrieked, struggling and kicking. "Malfoy, you prat! You put me down right now, Draco! Let me walk!" She pounded her fists on his back.

"Nope," he told her, a huge grin upon her face. "Not until you have thoroughly apologized to my extremely injured pride."

An old couple walked passed them, turning to stare as they did so. Hermione smiled sheepishly at them and waved helplessly. "Fine!" She heaved a great sigh. "Dear Draco Malfoy's pride, I do apologize for the terrible injury I have caused you. Maybe if you weren't such a tremendous, inflated, and _fragile_ pride, I wouldn't—"

Malfoy tossed her up again, and she landed back on his shoulder with a laugh. "Draco!"

"Hurry up and apologize, Granger. You're heavy."

She gasped in outrage. "I am _not!"_

"Ah," he said, sounding pleased. "Whose pride is fragile now?"

"Malfoy! I will kick you in the head if you don't set me down right this _instant!_"

"Kick away, love," he told her. "Good evening, maa'm," he greeted as another pedestrian gawked at the sight of them.

"_Draco! You're embarrassing me! _I'll never be able to go back to that pub again and it's all _your fault!_"

"Still waiting for that apology," he said in a sing-song voice.

She huffed. "Fine! I'm sorry!"

"For?"

"For nothing!" she laughed, kicking him with all her strength.

He gave a loud _oof_, but caught himself and carefully steadied them. "_Granger, are you mad? _You could have killed us, just then!"

"Then put me down!" she whined. "Come on, Draco! Your shoulder is digging into my stomach. And it's _cold_! I want my sweater!"

He paused, as though weighing his decision. "Fine," he agreed as he gently set her down on her feet.

She immediately began beating his chest with her fists. "You…little…prat!" she said as each fist landed.

Her bag and sweater fell to the pavement as he began trying to grab for her hands, laughing as she continued to punch him. Once he had successfully caught her by her wrists, he pulled her close to him. She froze, looking into his silver eyes as their noses touched. A long, heavy moment passed, and Hermione's heart was pounding heavily against her ribcage.

"I'm going to kiss you," Malfoy breathed.

"Okay," Hermione whispered.

He bent down and pressed his lips against hers, causing fireworks to explode within Hermione's chest.

She closed her eyes, sinking into his kiss. He released her hands and she wound them around his neck, running her fingers through his hair. He gripped her tightly by her hips, pulling her body flush against his, and her heart felt like it was bursting within her.

He pulled away slowly, resting his forehead against hers. Their breathing was coming out in heavy, heaving gasps.

Hermione swallowed thickly and smiled. "I'd like to take you up on your offer to make an evening of it," she whispered.

He grinned, his steel gray eyes flashing hungrily as he ran his thumb softly against her jaw.

"I'd like nothing better."


	17. Making A Night of It

**Omg this scene was so difficult to write, and it took me two days before it finally all came together! This is my first fanfiction, my first sex scene-all of it, it's my first effort. Writing sex is incredibly frustrating. I can't edit/change/improve this scene any more than I already have. I've read it so many times now that it's starting to make me feel sick! Every time I read this again it makes me cringe. I'm done lol. I hope this didn't turn out**** terribly. I tried really hard! Hehe...hard. **

**AHEM.**

**Anyway, feel free to offer constructive criticism or feedback of any kind! Thank you for all the kind encouraging reviews!**

They barely made it in Hermione's door before Malfoy had her against the wall, their hands and mouths on each other. He pressed his knee between her legs and she moaned deliciously into his mouth. Her hands tangled in his hair and as his fingers brushed under her shirt and against her bare lower back, she let out a shuddering breath.

She shrugged out of her sweater and he pulled it off of her, dropping it to the ground along with her purse.

"Wait," she said with a pause. She reached for her purse and grabbed for her wand. Muttering a quick contraception charm, she dropped her wand onto her bag and turned back to him with a shy smile. His eyes roamed slowly down her figure and he grinned at her with a rakish smile before picking her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he pinned her to the wall once more. She laughed into his kiss.

"Always laughing at me, aren't you Granger?" he said between kisses.

He trailed his lips down her jawline and to her neck, sucking lightly at the hollow of her collarbone. Her smile vanished then, her pink lips going slack as she shivered under his mouth.

His grip on her thighs tightened. _"Bedroom,"_ he breathed as his lips grazed against her ear.

"Down…down the…hall…." She directed, pointing a shaking hand to their right.

Still holding her around his waist, he carried her down the hall, kicking the slightly ajar door open. He didn't break their kiss once and she marveled at his strength.

He sat on the bed with her straddling his lap, and she tugged at the hem of his shirt. He raised his arms, pulling away from her kiss for only a moment as she pulled it off over his head and threw it on the ground. She ran her hands up his chest, admiring his strong frame and he hummed, closing his eyes at her touch.

He tangled a hand in her curly hair as he kissed her again, biting gently at her lower lip. She ground into his pelvis and he let out a feverish moan, tightening his hold on her in a deliciously painful way. She pushed him down on the bed, running her fingers down his torso. Then she reached up for the bottom of her own shirt and pulled it off of her, flinging it away. His lips parted as he ran his eyes over her body.

_"__You're beautiful,"_ he said. He shook his head slightly. _"You're so beautiful."_

She swallowed thickly at his words—at the knowledge that he was really seeing _her—_feeling warmth pool low in her belly. He reached up for her and gently pulled her down into a breathtaking kiss. He rolled over, pressing her body against the mattress, kissing her like a man possessed. His fingers trailed lightly down her body, and she felt herself trembling with anticipation. _Merlin,_ she wanted him—she wanted him so bad.

With graceful fingers, he undid the front of her jeans and she arched her hips, reaching down and helping him slide her pants down off her legs. She kicked them off her feet, the cool air greeting her exposed skin. He ran his fingers up her thighs, his touch so soft she couldn't help but shiver. She couldn't stop the whimper that escaped her lips when he ran his fingers over her black panties.

_"__Merlin, Granger. You're so wet,"_ he groaned, his fiery eyes looking like molten silver. She grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him down to her, wrapping her legs around his waist. He ground into her, and she moaned as she felt his arousal pressing against her.

"These need to come off," she grumbled, pulling at the buckle of his dress pants. He had them off in a mere second, and they dropped to the floor beside the bed, the buckle clinking against the wooden floors.

Draco reached around Hermione, lifting her up and unlatching her bra with one deft hand before moving her further up the bed, then leaning down and nipping at her neck.

She ran her hands down his strong back, reveling in the feeling of his bare chest against hers. His mouth trailed warm, wet kisses over her skin—slowly down across her collarbone, down to her chest—her breathing came in heaving gasps as he took a small pink mound in his mouth.

Hermione ran her fingers through Draco's blonde hair, closing her eyes and trying to remember just how to breathe. He glanced up at her with lust-filled eyes as his mouth trailed down her belly, placing careful kisses all along her body. She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, her heart pounding heavily in her chest. He smirked at her as he placed lingering kisses on her upper thighs, his warm breath causing goosebumps to rise along her skin.

She groaned, the delicious ache of desire growing inside her. _"Don't be a tease, Draco,"_ she pleaded, one hand knotting desperately in her hair.

"_Patience,_ Granger," he admonished with a sly grin, sliding her panties down her thighs _ever_ so slowly.

"I don't want to be patient! I want _you,_ I want—oh!" Her back arched off the bed when he touched her. Her nerves were sparking; her body was ablaze. Was she breathing? She couldn't quite tell.

He ran his tongue along her clit and she gasped, her heart leaping painfully in her chest. Pleasure was racking through her in waves. He parted her lower lips and slid one finger into her folds, then another. He sucked at her sensitive bud and she bucked into his touch, a desperate moan tearing from her mouth.

_"__Draco,"_ she panted. _"Draco, I'm…I…"_ Her chest was heaving, pleasure building and building within her. Her back arched up off the bed, one hand clawing desperately at the bedsheets, the other tangling helplessly in her own hair.

His tongue explored her many layers, darting from her opening back to her spot, twirling circles around her clit before sucking and licking in turn. Her hips bucked and her muscles tightened around his fingers.

She came with his name on her lips, her orgasm crashing over her. She whimpered as Draco slowed his motions with his mouth, her body suddenly hypersensitive to his touch. She breathed deeply, reaching for him, and he crawled up her body to kiss her. She kissed him back, tasting herself on his lips as she ran her fingers through his blonde locks. She hooked one leg around his waist and flipped them over, straddling him again, never breaking away from his mouth. Her hand wandered down to his boxers, and she cupped his erection in her hand.

He let out a ragged breath at her touch, and she bit lightly at his earlobe. She slid down his body, kissing him slowly. He gasped as she flicked her tongue over his nipple and she smiled at his reaction. She slid his boxers off, his hard cock bouncing up against his stomach as she did so. She looked up at him with sultry eyes as she took him in her hand, and he gave a broken gasp. With one hand holding him firmly, she slowly took him in her mouth.

_"__Merlin, Granger!"_ he breathed, completely wrecked.

She licked him from the base of his cock before placing her pink lips around the head, and he watched her with heated eyes as she slid her lips down around his length.

He threw his head back against the bed and released a needy moan. _"Granger, gods that's…" _he broke off with a groan.

She pumped her hand along the base of his cock as she sucked, and her lips came off of him with a wet pop. Malfoy reached down and grabbed her, rolling over and pushing her onto the bed with a desperate aggression. Her kissed her long and hard, his fingers wandering down to her entrance. He rubbed his fingers over her clit and she gasped when he inserted a finger inside her.

She gripped his shoulder tightly, knotting one hand into his hair and giving a tug. _"Draco,_" she begged, every nerve in her body sparking. "_Draco, please."_

He kissed her again. "Tell me what you want," he breathed against her lips sensuously.

Her hands ran along his back, pulling him closer. "I want you," she moaned. "I want you inside me. Please, Draco," she pleaded. "I need you _now."_

He took his cock in his hand, rubbing the head along her entrance and groaning as the words left her mouth. Hermione whimpered and he placed a hard kiss against her neck as he sheathed himself inside her.

She gasped as she felt his entire length fill her, her heart racing and her skin warming. He paused over her, his breathing coming in ragged gasps as he took in the sensation of being inside her, before he started to move.

She bucked her hips, rising up to meet his thrusts, pleasure coursing through her. He pushed into her, clenching his teeth and closing his eyes. Her moans grew louder and louder, and she called out his name.

He bent down and kissed her, almost missing her lips completely as he quickened his pace. He moaned against her neck, thrusting into her harder and harder. She grasped at him, her fingernails scratching into his back, completely undone.

He pressed a kiss onto her lips before leaning up and maneuvering her left leg over his right shoulder, taking her again.

Her pleas became indistinguishable as she grasped at the bedsheets, completely overcome.

_"__Hermione," _he moaned, and an orgasm crashed over her at the sound of her name from his lips. She pushed him over with a newfound courage, stradding him with a kiss. He looked up at her, appearing drunk with passion, as she raised herself to her knees and impaled herself upon him.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, feeling himself even deeper within her, before letting out a filthy moan. He gripped her hips, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, helping her keep pace as she ground against him.

She ran her fingers through her hair and his eyes lit up. He watched her milky white breasts bounce as she continued her motions, and Draco knew it was too much for him to take.

"Hermione," he gasped. "Hermione, I'm going to—"

He felt her walls begin to clamp around his cock and he rolled them over once more, pressing her firmly against the bed.

"Draco, I'm coming," she cried. "Draco, I'm—" She moaned, her muscles tightening around him and he quickened his pace. "Harder," she begged, gripping him tightly.

He obliged, thrusting into her harder and faster. "I'm going to come," he moaned. "Granger," he shuddered, sounding almost pained as his motions becoming jerky and uneven.

Hermione bit her lip as she looked into his eyes, looking every bit the seductive deviant she was. "I want to make you come," she said with a feverish gasp. "Come inside me," she begged.

All it took were those filthy words to make him lose it. He sank deep into her one last time before he came, his cock pulsing within her. His head dropped to her chest and he let out one last groan, kissing her along her sternum.

Their breathing was ragged, and they were a sweaty mess. Hermione looked down at him, her eyes shining. "That was…" She ran a hand through her hair. "Draco, that was just…"

He grinned, looking up and kissing her slowly. "…Amazing," he finished for her, staring into her brown eyes, bright with passion. He slowly pulled out of her with a shaky breath. She whimpered softly at the loss of him inside her and he dropped onto the bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her. She curled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

She hummed contentedly. "My whole body is buzzing," she told him softly.

Draco gave a light laugh. "Mine too. Look, my hands are shaking." He held up a hand for demonstration.

Hermione joined him in laughter before snuggling up closer to him. She wrapped an arm around his waist and gave a happy little sigh. He ran his fingers lightly up and down her arm as they listened to their breathing slow and she giggled.

"Stop it!" she laughed. "That tickles!" She grabbed at his hand and moved it back over to his side, away from her.

She felt his body stiffen and she looked up at him worriedly. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he was frowning in distaste. He took her wrist gently in his hand and held her arm up before him. She followed his line of vision to her forearm, where that familiar ugly red word sat forever inscribed in her skin.

She tried to pull away, feeling incredibly self-conscious and exposed, but he wouldn't let her. He held her firmly in place, one arm still wrapped around her, the other holding up her scarred arm.

"Draco," she protested.

Then, ever so slowly, he brought her arm up to his face, where he placed a light kiss upon her scar. Her expression cleared and her body relaxed at the sweet action. A shy smile made its way to her face.

He turned his head to look her in the eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Hermione blinked in surprise. She shook her head. "Draco, you don't have to… You don't have to apologize. You…"

He chuckled bitterly. "I really do, though. I'm _sorry_, Hermione."

"Draco—"

"Will you just…" He closed his eyes. "Will you just let me apologize? For…for everything. For being such a prat, for tormenting you when we were kids, for…for standing there while… I'm just… I'm so sorry," he finished in a quiet voice.

Hermione rolled over onto her stomach and reached her hand up to caress his cheek softly. "You're forgiven."

Draco looked back and forth between her warm brown eyes as though waiting for something. Then finally he gave a small nod, leaned forward, and kissed her. She kissed him back sweetly, trying to convey as many emotions as she could in her kiss.

He pulled away, pressed one last light kiss to her forehead, and tugged her back down onto his shoulder. She wrapped her arm around him once more, giving another content little hum.

A content, sleepy peace settled over them.

"Goodnight, Draco," she sighed.

He gave her a brief, tight squeeze before kissing the top of her head. "Goodnight, Hermione."


	18. The Next Morning

**Sorry my submissions have been slow lately! I work nonstop and I'm a single mom to a very energetic toddler which means I have next to ZERO down time. I was writing this last night and I sat back and all these ideas were coming to me and I was like, omg. This is going to be like a full blown 40 damn chapter fanfic. What have I done? What am I doing? Why have I done this? It's going to take forever to get all of this into writing!**

**So prepare yourselves, folks.**

**Loooonnnnnng Dramione fanfic. Although I'm sure ya'll don't mind ****_too_**** terribly... :)**

**Here we go!**

Hermione woke the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee. She stretched out on her bed with a sleepy groan, then rolled over and curled up under the covers once more. It was then she realized, with some confusion, that she was naked.

She heard a muffled masculine voice speaking from down the hall and sat up, fully alert and working herself into a panic before remembering that Draco had spent the night last night. She relaxed and a happy little grin worked its way up her face as she remembered their activities from the night before-activities that had continued a time or two more throughout the night.

_Speaking of Draco, _she thought, _where is he?_

She rose from bed and grabbed her fuzzy purple dressing robe from its hook on the back of her closet door. Stepping into her house slippers and stifling a yawn as she tied her robe around her waist, she opened her bedroom door and set out down the hall to locate the man.

Draco's voice got louder as she approached, accompanied by a suspicious sizzling sound.

"Yes sir. I am aware of your contracts with his company, sir," came Draco's voice in his formal tone. "Yes, but as I said before, these contracts do not prevent you from consulting with my company. Yes sir, that is correct. I agree." He paused. "I would be very interested in that, yes. Of course."

He was standing in her kitchen, wearing his clothes from the night before—although they were considerably wrinkled now. He was facing the stove, where the sizzling seemed to originate from. He had his mobile pressed to his ear, supported by his shoulder.

"I think that would be mutually beneficial," he continued. "I'm pleased to hear that. I'll be sure to let my team know. Of course. We can arrange something. Yes, feel free to give me a call or contact me via email at your earliest convenience."

"Draco?" Hermione called.

He whipped around to face her, his face melting into a smile. He mouthed _good morning_ before holding out a finger to indicate that she should wait. He turned back around to the stove.

_Was Draco cooking breakfast?_

She stood motionless in the doorway, feeling very confused—and honestly more than slightly impressed—at the fact that Draco was _cooking_ for her.

"Yes sir, that is my contact information. Alright, well thank you for your time. Yes, I look forward to it. Have a good day, sir. Thank you. Goodbye."

He hung up the phone and there was a soft clang as he moved a pan off the stovetop. Then he turned around to face her with a smirk.

"Well, well, Granger. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he drawled as his eyes roamed up and down her figure.

She immediately reached up to touch her hair. It was probably a crazy mess right now. She knew very well that she was prone to terrible cases of bedhead.

Draco walked toward her, taking her hands in his before leaning down and giving her a kiss. "Don't fiddle with it. I like your hair."

She frowned. "You do?" she asked suspiciously.

He nodded. "It's just as feisty and lively as you are."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why do I feel like there's an underhanded insult in there somewhere?"

He chuckled. "Good morning."

She bit her lip as she smiled. "Good morning. Is that…" She peered around him. "Did you cook _eggs?"_

He looked a bit too proud of himself at that moment. "I did," he confirmed.

Her eyebrows rose. "You can cook? You. Draco Malfoy?"

"The one and only," he said with a haughty smirk.

She snorted. "Well that's… I'm very impressed," she admitted. "Do I smell coffee?"

He nodded once more. "I wasn't sure how you liked your coffee so I decided to just wait until you woke up."

Her eyes widened at this. "Wait! What time is it?"

He glanced at his wristwatch. "Seven fifteen."

She gave a sigh of relief. For a moment she had been afraid she had overslept—she'd forgotten to set her alarm last night. "It's still early. Why were you on the phone at seven fifteen?" she asked, walking towards the coffee machine.

"I had a business call scheduled with a client in Beijing. There's quite a time difference—it's just after lunch where he is."

"You do business internationally?"

"I do."

She poured herself a cup of coffee and opened the fridge. "Did you get some coffee?" she asked as she reached for the cream.

"I already had a cup."

"I'm sorry I don't have any sugar. Not much of a sweets person," she admitted.

He shrugged. "I drink my coffee black anyhow. Are you hungry? Would you like breakfast?"

She grinned. "I'd love some. Thank you." She sat down at the small table on the other side of her kitchen. "So where did you learn to cook?" She was fairly certain that Malfoy hadn't had a bit of cooking experience his whole life. She knew for a fact that the Malfoys had several elves at their disposal.

"I had to figure it out after I lost my magic. And, not to brag or anything, but I've taken to it _quite_ well. I possess great culinary skill, if I may say so myself."

Hermione chuckled before taking a sip of her coffee. "Like anyone could stop you," she muttered with a smile from behind her mug.

He set two plates of scrambled eggs on the table. "What was that, Granger?"

"Nothing," she replied sweetly. "I was only commenting on how handsomely disheveled you look this morning."

"Speaking of underhanded insults," he said as he sat in the chair beside her.

She chuckled into her coffee, before placing it on the table and inspecting the plate of eggs before her. She looked up at him in surprise. "These look really good," she observed. "You put cheese in these? And are those…mushrooms?"

He snorted. "Of course they do—_I_ made them, after all. I did indeed put cheese and mushrooms in them. _And_ seasoning. Now eat because I can't wait to hear you tell me how good they actually taste."

She forked a bite of eggs into her mouth and hummed. "Mmmm… These _are _good."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I told you."

Hermione swallowed the eggs and grinned at him. "You certainly did."

He returned her grin, his gray eyes practically shining.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to look away from him. "So… What's on the agenda for today?"

Malfoy sighed, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. "Work—as per usual. I was thinking of stopping by the shop around three. It's Friday. Are you hosting your book club meeting today?"

"I am," she confirmed. "Speaking of books—"

"Here we go," Malfoy mumbled with an endearing smile.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm going to ignore that jab on account of the fact that you made me breakfast."

Malfoy laughed. "You like my jabs—admit it."

"I will admit to no such thing."

"You do," he insisted confidently. "I wouldn't tease you so much if you didn't like it."

"_As I was saying—_speaking of books," she began again.

Malfoy crossed his arms, watching her intently with amusement plain on his face.

"I've been wanting to ask you how you knew about Henri Barbusse. When on earth did you read _Le Feu_?"

"I told you—my neighbor lent it to me when I moved here," he reminded her.

Hermione groaned. "Yes, but that's hardly an explanation. Do you have any idea how shocked I was when you showed up at the shop requesting Muggle Literature?"

He rolled his eyes. "I do, actually. It was written all over your face. You're quite transparent, you know. It's one of my favorite things about you."

"Don't try to distract me with your flirtations, Draco!"

He laughed, long and hard. "I don't have to try very hard, now do I?"

She swatted him on the arm. "Come on, I'm serious! I want to know!"

"Oh, Granger—always the insatiably curious one. It's good to know that some things never change."

She threw him an exasperated look and he leaned back in his chair. "Fine, fine," he relented. "So I moved here almost right after my magic was bound, and I pretty much started working myself to death. I was so angry… I almost never ate or slept. I just worked and drank all the time. But there's this little old couple living on the property next to mine and they absolutely would _not_ stop hounding me." He gave an affectionate smile. "They visited me all the time, and always brought me gifts. Food, books, wine, a knitted blanket, vegetables from their garden—you name it. Sweet people," he said with a shrug. "They were the first Muggles I really got to know. Anyway, he brought me _Le Feu,_ along with a few other French novels. One night I ran out of whiskey and was too drunk and too tired to go out and get more, so I sat down and read instead."

"You read _Le Feu_ when you were _drunk?"_ She asked, looking nothing short of horrified.

"I'm a very functional drunk," he defended, taking the last bite of his eggs. "But I only read a few chapters before I passed out. I re-read and finished it the next day. Don't worry."

Hermione noticeably relaxed. "So how long ago was this?"

He set his fork down on his now empty plate. "A good eight or nine months ago. I've been reading a lot of Muggle literature. I used to stop in every bookshop I passed. Now I just favorite _The Drowsy Poet_."

"And the poor bookshop girl who has to put up with you," Hermione added with a smirk.

Draco shrugged, smiling back at her. "You like it."

Hermione laughed and glanced at the clock, realizing it was getting close to eight. She needed to get ready or she would be late for work. "I need to start getting ready," she sighed. "I'm overdue for a shower."

"Want some company?" Draco wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She ducked her head and pushed her hair behind her ear, feeling her cheeks begin to warm. "I could definitely use some company," she admitted shyly before picking up their plates and setting them in the sink.

One very hot, very steamy shower later, Draco and Hermione were walking hand in hand on their way to _The Drowsy Poet _with dopey smiles on their faces. Hermione watched the city of Claremont go about and start their day. A ray of sun shone through the winter clouds and a cold breeze blew her hair behind her shoulder. All she could think was _I could get used to this._

Draco kept glancing at her as they crossed a street, then looking away when she looked back at him.

"What?" she finally asked after the fifth or sixth glance.

He shrugged. "It's just kind of weird to see you…like this. It throws me off a bit."

Hermione could feel herself begin to withdraw, very aware of her dark hair and disguised face, but Draco tightened his hold on her hand reassuringly.

"I can imagine it's kind of weird," she acknowledged with a nervous laugh.

He nodded. "Just a bit. But I can still see you."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He gave half a shrug. "I'm starting to recognize your little mannerisms and quirks. It's like seeing you through all…" he motioned towards her. "Through all this."

She smiled brightly, feeling very warm inside despite the cold winter weather. "Huh."

They rounded a corner and an especially cold breeze of air greeted them. Hermione wrapped her jacket tighter around her with her free hand.

"Come with me to Paris," Draco suddenly said.

Hermione looked up at him. "What?" she laughed.

"You heard me. I have to go back this weekend. Come with me."

She blinked in surprise. "I…I can't. I have work."

"You don't seem like the type to take time off of work very often."

She adamantly shook her head. "I don't. I don't think I've taken any time off since I started working there."

"Then Marion certainly won't mind if you request the weekend off," he pointed out.

She gave a breathy laugh at his insistence. "I… But it's Friday!"

Draco pulled her close, putting his arm around her shoulders. She loved the way they fit together, and she was caught a bit off guard by his act of affection.

"I would take you to dinner at the nicest restaurant in all of Paris."

She snorted. "That's a bold promise."

He eyed her intimately. "I intend to deliver."

She bit her lip. "I have no doubt about that."

He watched her with a smile. "Alright," he relented. "If you don't want to go to Paris with me, I understand."

"It's not that I don't _want _to, it's just that…"

"You have work," he finished for her. "I know. You, Granger, you have a serious work ethic. You know, I think what people say about you does you a great injustice."

She shook her head in confusion. "What people say?"

He nodded serenely. "Brightest witch of her age, they say. I think they're quite wrong. What they should say is _Hermione Granger: hardest working witch of her age,"_ he announced, holding his hand out for dramatic effect.

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Says the man who was on a business call before eight a.m. this morning," she teased.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You have me there," he said with a nod.

She shook her head and chuckled at his antics. They slowed as they approached the bookshop.

"Well, my car is right over there, so I should probably get going. I have quite a bit to get done before three today."

She grinned at him. "I'll see you at three then," she said, toying with a button on his shirt.

He smirked. "I can hardly wait."

He bent down and kissed her on the lips in a way that made the world seem to spin a little slower. He grazed a finger along her cheekbone before pulling back and flashing a commercial worthy grin.

"See you," she said breathily.

"See you."

And with that, he crossed the street to his car. He glanced back at her as he opened his door, grinning and shaking his head.

Hermione took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, before turning to go inside—unable to shake the dumb little grin off her face. Today was going to be a good day.


	19. The Search Continues

Draco arrived back home a little less than thirty minutes later. Seeing as he was freshly showered—although, he acknowledged with a grin, there had been next to nothing _clean_ about that shower with Granger—he simply changed into fresh clothes and sat at his desk to begin his day.

He was sorting through a contract with a company from Paris when he heard a familiar tapping on the window of his study. He rose and opened the window, watching his mother's large brown eagle owl swoop in and perch on his desk.

"Not on the papers!" he exclaimed, shooing the great big brown bird off the contracts. "Bloody owl," he cursed under his breath.

She ruffled her feathers, making a very outraged sounding _hoot._

"Alright, alright, calm down. No need to get your feathers in a twist. What does mother have to say now?" he asked her, reaching for the bundle attached to her leg. She stuck out her leg, refusing to look at him.

_That bird has as much attitude as her owner,_ he thought.

He unrolled a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and a rather long piece of parchment bearing his mother's flowery writing. He threw the _Prophet_ onto his desk and began to unroll the parchment. There was a flutter of wings and he looked up to watch the owl fly across his study to perch on the fireplace mantle.

"Not there!" he complained to the bird. "You know, there are plenty of good trees outside for you to rest in. There's even a stable out there!"

The bird stared at him with apathetic orange eyes, looking very comfortable on his mantle.

"_Fine,_" he surrendered. "But if I find one bird dropping in here, so help me…" He turned his attention back to his mother's letter.

_Dear Draco,_

_I really do hope you're well. But I wouldn't exactly know, because you almost never write me anymore. I do wish you would write me more, Draco. I go to that horrid postal service station in town every Tuesday to check my P.O. Box, and it is almost always empty. I wish you would just come home and visit me every now and then—although it was so nice of you to let me visit you last month in Paris. I love seeing you, darling. I miss you terribly. This house is so empty without you here!_

_I spoke to the Greengrass family last week. They inquired about you—I think you should try writing Astoria. She's a lovely girl. I know I mentioned seeing her at that charity event on Christmas. She is such an upstanding and beautiful young lady. I know you are focused on your work and I applaud your efforts, darling. But you can't work your life away, Draco. You'll be turning twenty-five this year. Your father and I had been married for five years by the time I was your age, and I was pregnant with you before I even saw my twenty-fourth birthday!_

Draco snorted. Why his mother thought he had been in _any_ kind of position to be getting married at the same age she and his father did was a mystery.

_But the reason I'm writing is that I wanted to make sure you read this copy of The Daily Prophet this week. I know I send you one every week—it's important that you stay up to date on current events. But I also know that, more often than not, you throw them away immediately. Read this one! There is an article about you on page seven._

_Love you dearly,_

_Your Mother_

Draco gave a dubious hum as he reached for the_ Prophet._ He turned immediately to page seven, scanning the page until he found a title about half way down.

**THE MALFOY FAMILY: REBUILDING AND REINVENTING**

**_Shortly after the war, The Malfoy family disappeared from the public eye. Former supporters of the Dark Lord turned allies of Harry Potter, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were sentenced to house arrest and extensive community service. Although Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to life in Azkaban and passed away not long into his sentence, Draco and Narcissa have continued to bounce back from their precarious position within society. The Malfoy family has made extensive and generous donations to the Wizarding Community—particularly those affected most by the War, and has seemed to really clean up their act. After their vanishing from society all together, we ask—where are the Malfoys now?_**

**_Narcissa Malfoy, renowned for her charity work and her talent for organizing flawless social events, threw another charity ball this winter. It was a surprise to no one that members of highest society attended—British and foreign alike. The proceeds of the charity event went to funding Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's new program for the parents of Muggleborn Witches and Wizards. _**

**_This program, formed by War Hero Hermione Granger, was put into full affect upon the insistence of our very own Harry Potter last year. This program provides support and assistance to Muggle parents who struggle with incorporating magic into their lives. It allows for visits to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, education about our world, and assisting in any adjustments required by their magical children. To see Mrs. Malfoy donating to such a cause was a pleasant surprise to many, although not as surprising as the actions of her son, Draco._**

**_Draco Malfoy, serving another sentence under the Wizemgot court's ruling in 2002, is rumored to be living in France, where he is rebuilding the Malfoy family fortune through business with the Muggle World. Formerly a death eater, Draco Malfoy has certainly come far since the war ended. According to a source, Draco works with Muggle Corporations far and wide—from Belgium to Japan. To say that he has been successful would be an understatement! Working with Muggles, a feat most would find unbelievable..._**

Draco couldn't bring himself to finish the article as he looked up from the paper in disgust. _Ugh._ Why did his mother even bother sending him this? He hated reading this thing. They loved to throw phrases like _former death eater_ around too often for his liking. He didn't care if they were impressed or not. He folded the paper and threw it down on his desk, his mouth twisting into a snarl.

It was then that he caught sight of the front headline.

**Potter Travels to America as Search For War Hero and Best Friend Hermione Granger Continues: An Act of Loyalty or Foolishness?**

Potter was _still_ looking for her? In America of all places? _Merlin's beard_, didn't Potter know when to give up? He felt a stab of guilt deep in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he was an accomplice now to this whole situation. He knew exactly where Granger was, and Potter didn't. Potter was traveling to _America_ to search for her. She wasn't even that far away from him in the first place—just across the English Channel!

Draco rolled up the newspaper and threw it in the garbage bin. _Bloody Hell,_ he thought as he massaged his temples. Granger really needed to do something about this. He couldn't in good conscience sit around and watch Potter spend the rest of his life searching aimlessly for her in his refusal to accept the the only other offered explanation—that she was dead. He blanched at the thought. He owed Potter. He didn't necessarily like the man, but he owed him. After all, it was Potter's testimony that had saved him from Azkaban- twice.

He rose from his desk and poured himself a drink as he realized that he had no choice but to say something about this to Granger—_again_. Besides, she would want to know that her little program for the Muggleborn Hogwarts Students' parents had gone into effect. She probably would have liked to launch the program herself, which was undoubtedly why Potter pushed for the program's completion.

He downed the contents of his drink with a grimace.

Granger had gotten herself into a right mess.


	20. Another Friday

**Sorry it's been a while since I've updated! My life has been absolutely crazy hectic. I have almost no time or energy to write on weekends because I work nonstop. But the week has arrived, and with it, my days off! Hooray! Time to write!**

**There are some good chapters coming up soon! There will be a filler chapter or two, but soon enough, the drama will continue! Oh the plans I have in store for this story!**

Hermione was having a wonderful Friday. She went about her day with a smile on her face and a cheerful little glow about her. The morning rush went smoothly, she had a lovely cup of tea over her lunch break, and soon enough it was nearing three and she started setting up for the book club as she hummed to herself.

"So I take it last night went well then?" Florence commented as she sat down in one of the chairs Hermione had just finished placing. "You and Draco have reconciled after the little spat from last weekend?"

Hermione had successfully avoided Florence all day, knowing that she would grill her for details of the night before. She rolled her eyes and refused to reply as she continued to set out copies of the new book her club would be reading after they finished _Le Feu_ today.

"You certainly look to be in a good mood today…" Florence pressed.

Hermione stopped and turned to her. "Florence, I've told you before—I'm not going to discuss my sex life with you! It's private. I don't enjoy the idea of—"

"So you _did _sleep with him, then!" Florence interjected with a knowing smile.

Hermione's cheeks turned pink. "I never said… I didn't mean… That's… Ugh!" She threw her hands up in the air. "You're impossible!"

The bubbly brunette let out a little tinkling laugh. "And you're not very good at keeping secrets!"

She sighed, realizing how very true that statement was. "You have no idea," she muttered, thinking back to when she spilled the beans to Draco on Sunday. She placed the last book on its chair and started setting up the display for their new book.

"Well since I already know, you might as well give me the details," Florence said as she leaned forward in her seat eagerly.

Hermione could feel her level of irritation rising. "Florence…" she warned.

"Oh come on! I'll bet he is good in bed. He just has that _look,_ you know? I bet he can do all kinds of things."

Hermione said nothing as her mortification grew.

"He can, can't he? _Mon dieu! _You're getting redder and redder, so I know I'm right. I bet he knows all kinds of tricks with his—"

"—I'm not going to divulge _details_ of my sexual activities with Draco!" Hermione all but shrieked.

"Am I interrupting something?" came a masculine voice she recognized all too well.

Hermione closed her eyes, sighing heavily. _"Damn it,"_ she muttered before turning around. Draco stood there beside Florence, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other holding a copy of _Le Feu._ He seemed to be torn between confusion and amusement, and was wearing that stupid patronizing smile on his face that always got her heart pumping.

"Why do you have the _uncanny_ ability to walk in at the worst possible moments of conversation around here?" she asked with a glare. "It's like you two are conspiring against me!"

Draco leaned over a little bit towards Florence. "Has she been like this all day?" he asked.

Florence watched him with laughing eyes and shook her head. "No, she's been walking on clouds all day long. She hasn't even been _slightly_ frazzled until now."

Draco nodded to himself, standing up straight once more. "Still got it," he said with a very proud smile.

Hermione placed her hand on her hip. "Did you come in here _just _to tease me?"

He nodded again, shrugging as if the answer was obvious. "I'm always here just to tease you. You're so damn _cute_ when you're mad."

She gave an exasperated sound before turning on her heel and storming off for the office, ignoring Florence's laughter ringing through the air.

_Damn that Malfoy,_ she thought. How could a girl be so frustrated and yet so completely infatuated at the same time? It made no sense at all.

It made no sense…but she liked it, regardless.

There was a relatively small group attending the book club that day. They summarized the last few chapters and shared some thoughts. Malfoy had assumed that somber, faraway look again, as if he was in a world of his own. Hermione knew the feeling—she spent the majority of the meetings trying to wrench herself out of her own wartime experiences.

_"__Le Feu's ending vision," _she concluded,_ "of a world where senseless suffering is redeemed by the vision of a better, more peaceful world of equality and justice is just one example of how Barbusse conveys both the horror of war and the eternal hope that something good might come out of it." _She ended her statement and looked around for any further input.

The members of her book club all nodded in agreement, looking somewhat morose and sorrowful at the conclusion of their novel.

_"__I so enjoyed reading and discussing this book with you all," _she told them. _"And now let's move to the subject of our next book, shall we?"_

The group nodded attentively. Draco leaned back in his chair, looking exhausted—Hermione felt the same way. This book was a tough one to finish. She didn't like lingering on thoughts of war. It hit too close to home.

_"__The next book on the list is Andrew Gide's La Porte Etroite."_

Soft murmurs passed through the group.

_"It is a short novel, written in 1909, about the quest for salvation." _She was aware of Malfoy watching her closely, and she tuned him out to focus on the task before her._ "It tells of the failure of love in the face of the narrowness and the moral philosophy of Protestantism. It has been hailed as one of the most sublime and sensuous love stories of the 19__th__ century, and it regarded as one of Gide's most vaunted publications. It is to be paired with another of his novels—L'Immoraliste—which we will be reading next."_

Hermione motioned towards a stack of books on the Display case_. "You can purchase this novel here if you would like. Please read the first four chapters and we will meet to discuss it next week. Thank you very much for attending, I look forward to seeing you all next Friday."_ She smiled cheerfully and the group turned to one another in quiet conversation as they all rose from their seats, a few flocking to the book display.

Hermione watched as Draco stood and approached her.

"A love story, huh?"

Hermione smiled. "You have something against love stories?" she asked.

Draco shook his head. "Nothing at all. I just didn't peg you for much of a romance novel person."

"I enjoy all kinds of books—love stories included. And it's not _just_ a love story. It's very interesting."

"Oh, I believe you. I wouldn't _dare_ to doubt the Literature Authority." He put his hands in his pockets and leaned his shoulder against the wall beside her.

She took in the delightful sight of him leaning casually against the wall in his nice pants and dress shirt, thinking he reminded her of a model ad for a fancy line of men's clothes that you see on bus advertisements. She wondered briefly if Draco owned a single pair of casual clothes. She wouldn't be surprised if he didn't. She focused back onto his words and wrinkled her nose. "Literature Authority?"

He nodded. "I'd say that's a very accurate title for you."

She gave a light laugh and shrug as she moved to return the chairs back to their original places. "So what do you have planned for the rest of the day?"

Draco followed her, picking up a chair and rearranging it as he did so. "I was hoping we could take this riveting discussion on French Literature back to my place," he drawled in that cocky tone of his.

Hermione smiled to herself as she set her chair down. "Direct, aren't you?" she quipped.

"Well, I might have spent all day—between phone calls, that is—planning out a candlelit dinner for you tonight."

Hermione stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. "You did what?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her and smiled. "I made you dinner. Well, I _started_ to make you dinner. It won't be done for a few hours yet. But I'll have it all ready for you when you get off—candles, china plates, vintage red wine…"

She blinked, feeling a bit speechless. "You… you're cooking me dinner?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "Why do you always sound so surprised when I cook? I told you, I'm practically a culinary_ artist._"

She laughed then, studying him closely. "Why did you make me dinner?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a romantic. Besides, I'm leaving tomorrow morning and I'll be out of gone until Tuesday. I wanted to spend some time with you before I have to go four days without seeing you again."

Hermione warmed at his words, trying and failing to keep a bright smile off her face. She couldn't think of a more romantic date—and their previous dates had already been quite romantic. But a homemade dinner by candlelight? She could only imagine how the night would go…

"So what do you say?" he asked.

"What?" She blinked out of her stupor.

"Will you come to dinner?" he repeated, his eyes glinting with amusement.

She shook her head and chuckled, beginning to put the books back on their respective shelves. "Of course I will, silly!"

"Well I wanted to be sure—You sounded awfully suspicious for a moment there."

"I wasn't suspicious, I was…surprised." She paused in restacking the books back on the shelf. "Did you really think I would say no?" She looked at him curiously.

He snorted. "Of course not," he answered, instantly straightening and assuming the haughty posture that she was certain must be a genetic Malfoy trait.

Hermione shook her head as she tried to repress a laugh. "Pick me up at eight?"

Malfoy leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Perfect," he said softly against her hair.

She shivered at his tone and bit down on her lip. Her heart was palpitating.

He backed away slowly with a wide smile, watching her as he did so. Then he winked before turning and confidently strolling out the door.

Hermione watched him go with a smile on her face, wondering how she could possibly be falling so hard for such a frustratingly arrogant man. But she was falling for him—and she was falling _hard._ She already couldn't wait for the evening to arrive.


	21. Restaurant de Draco

The remainder of the day seemed to pass painfully slowly, as time tends to do when there is something to look forward to. Hermione was restless all day long, trying to stay busy as a means of distraction—but there was very little to do, thanks to her extreme level of productivity from earlier that week. She finally resigned herself to standing at the cash register, leaning on the counter and tapping her fingers as she watched the second hand on the clock tick by. Florence had left earlier that evening, and Hermione was grateful she had not been around to tease her further.

Finally at 7:55, Marion shuffled up to the counter.

_"__I don't think it would hurt to close a few minutes early,"_ she said.

Hermione jumped at the sound of her voice, standing up straight and smiling excitedly.

Marion eyed her knowingly and that wise twinkle in her eye returned. _"You do not mind, Joan—do you?"_

Hermione shook her head a bit too enthusiastically. "Err…_non, I don't mind at all," _she said as she cleared her throat and looked away in embarrassment. _"I already counted the cash register money and filed all our expenses and revenue for today,"_ she admitted with a sheepish grin.

_"__How…industrious of you,"_ Marion said with a coy smile. _"I figured you would be looking forward to getting out of here. Besides, your young man is outside waiting for you."_

She turned around so fast it nearly gave her whiplash. There was Draco, leaning casually against the passenger side door of his gleaming silver car, right outside the front window. He appeared to be…whistling? _Odd,_ Hermione thought. His hands were in the pockets of his wool jacket, one eyebrow was raised as his eyes swept over the street, and he wore an expression that made him look incredibly bored.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. _"How long has he been standing there?"_ she wondered.

Marion shrugged. _"I only noticed him a few minutes ago. But do not be fooled by his nonchalant appearance—I saw him watching you attentively before I walked out here. I think it's safe to assume he is putting on a front for you."_

Hermione laughed, thinking that sounded very much like something Draco would do, as Marion started for the front door. Very little escaped the attention of the older lady. Hermione reached under the counter for her messenger bag and her heart began doing that annoying fluttering again. Donning her jacket, she quickly followed after Marion and held the door open for the store owner as they exited.

_"__Good work today, Joan. I will see you tomorrow morning. Have a good evening with your gentleman," _she said, giving Hermione a wink.

Hermione blushed and nodded before turning to face Draco. As soon as his eyes met hers, his face melted into a grin.

"Hey there," he greeted.

She took hurried steps to meet him with a kiss. "Hello," she said softly.

"Ready for dinner?" he asked, opening her door for her.

"Should I have spent the last few hours preparing myself for this meal?" She slid into her seat.

Malfoy nodded in mocking seriousness. "Definitely," he said. "Because you, Granger, are about to have your mind_ blown."_

Hermione laughed at that. "Well I'm definitely excited now."

"As you should be." He winked and closed the door. Hermione settled into her seat and bit her lip, trying to calm the butterflies that were fluttering around in her stomach.

Twenty-five minutes later, Hermione was staring with wide eyes at a rather large house. She wouldn't even quite call it a house! It was a mansion!

"You live _here?_" She gaped.

Malfoy shrugged. "I like to live in comfort."

Hermione snorted. "Well that much I had gathered. It looks just like Malfoy Mansion."

Draco shook his head as they pulled up the driveway. "It's very different. It's not even as big as it looks on the outside. The mansion was so…open, empty, dark…ominous. My home is very warm and cozy. You'll see. The property is very large, but the house itself…"

He parked at the front of the driveway and turned off the car, throwing Hermione a quick grin before getting out of the car. She opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, looking around and taking in her surroundings.

The long gravel driveway wound in a circle around the front of the house, in the middle of which stood a small area of trees and bushes.

"There are roses here in the spring, and over there—" He motioned towards the yard beside the house (if you could even call the large plot of land a _yard)_ and Hermione's eyes followed him. "Over there—in the summer it's full of sunflowers."

Hermione hummed. "I love sunflowers," she commented. "They're my favorite."

Malfoy observed her, nodding to himself as if making a mental note of this. "I'm not surprised."

Hermione threw him a wry look before taking his hand in hers and they walked to the house together.

"Why do you say that?" she asked as they walked up the three steps to the porch.

"About sunflowers?" He let go of her hand to fumble with his keys and unlock the front door. It was tall and broad, wooden, and a deep, dark burgundy color. Hermione immediately smiled to herself upon associating the color with her House at Hogwarts. She didn't dare vocalize that, though.

"Yeah."

He shrugged as he opened the door. "If I were to guess your favorite flower, that would have been it. It's so…friendly and charming and bright. Like you," he added with a wink as he opened the door and motioned for her to enter.

She frowned. "I wouldn't exactly describe myself as…" She trailed off as she stepped into the house and cast her eyes around. The vaulted ceilings were high with deep warm toned walls. There were paintings hanging on each wall—beautiful pastels and oils of landscapes and oceans. There was a fresh bouquet of lilies on a dresser that sat in the front room beside the door. She walked into the living room—all the furniture was a deep, warm, honey oak color; there were beige leather couches and a large screened TV sitting against the wall. The fireplace was made of white brick, with a rather large oval mirror hanging above it. Draco had been right. The place was warm and inviting—and it wasn't as overly large as it appeared. It was quite cozy. It was definitely big and lavish, but comfortable.

She looked out the large open windows against the back wall, where she could see the grassy landscape rolling out into the dark night. There was a large wooden porch, with a wicker swing that swayed slightly in the breeze.

"This place is very cozy," she told him. "It's…it's nice. I really like it. You're right—it's so different from the Manor."

Draco shrugged. "That's kind of why I chose it."

"I don't see any green," she teased as she shrugged out of her jacket.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, stepping forward to take her jacket and hang it up on the coat rack by the door. "Well I didn't do any of the decorating—obviously. It was like this when I got here. But now that you mention it, this place could do with a little more emerald green…" He looked around the house thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll have it painted this weekend while I'm gone."

Hermione shook her head. "Sure you will. Did you buy this place?"

He nodded. "The owner sold it as is. It was fully furnished when I moved in, and I liked it. Also, I don't really know how to decorate unless it involves magic. So…it stayed like this."

Hermione looked around, and took a deep breath. "Is that dinner I smell? It smells delicious."

Malfoy clapped his hands together. "Right. I'll go check on dinner while you…change. Have a look around, and meet me in the kitchen in five minutes." He kissed her lightly on the cheek before disappearing around the corner. There was a clanging of dishes and pots and pans and Hermione smiled to herself before retrieving her wand.

_I'm sure doing a lot of smiling lately,_ she thought as she placed the wand to her head.

As the familiar tingling feeling faded, she shook out her hair and decided to find a bathroom. She saw a hallway and decided that was her best bet. She passed a few white doors—a closet, an empty guest bedroom, another closet—and finally found the bathroom. It was a half bathroom, just a toilet and a sink. She turned on the swirly brass faucet and splashed some cool water over her face before taking in her mirrored appearance. Honey brown hair, small lips, sharp cheekbones, warm brown eyes—she smiled and she started smoothing down her slightly frizzy hair. Taking a step back, she nodded in approval. She opened the door and followed the smell of food.

"This is so good," Hermione praised, thirty minutes later. They were sitting at a small oak table, covered with a dark purple tablecloth, upon which sat two tall white candles. They were about half way through the meal. Hermione had just returned from the kitchen, where she had retrieved their bottle of wine. She refilled their glasses.

Draco smiled as he picked up his wine glass. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

Hermione dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. "And you said you taught yourself to cook?"

Malfoy glanced at her briefly before looking back down at his plate. "I did," he confirmed before taking a bite of his _Blanquette de Veau._

Hermione smiled to herself. "You cooked this traditional French dish all by yourself? My, my, that's quite the feat. I thought this dish tasted familiar, but you must just have French cuisine down to a tee. You're very talented. Maybe you should open a restaurant. I can see it now: _Restaurant de Draco._ You could open it downtown."

He looked up at her, frowning and narrowing his gray eyes at her. He was quickly growing suspicious at her uncharacteristic praises.

"No, not downtown." She paused, looking thoughtful as she tapped her finger against her lips. "Oh I know! On Barboroque Street," she decided, throwing him a grin.

Malfoy leaned back in his seat, watching her through slitted eyes. "You caught me, didn't you?"

Hermione's grin widened. "If you're referring to the take-out boxes I saw in your trash can, then yes. The ones from Brasserie la Regence? A very nice little restaurant nearby the bookshop—the one I tend to visit regularly."

Draco's shoulders drooped and he sighed. "Alright, alright. You caught me. I didn't cook dinner. I mean, I tried—originally. I really did! I spent the majority of the afternoon attempting to cook meals _far_ above my pay grade. They…err… It didn't work out."

Hermione continued watching him—she was the one looking smug _now._ "But I thought you were…what did you call yourself? Ah, yes—a _culinary artist?"_

Malfoy offered a sheepish grin and a shrug. "My culinary masterpieces consist of scrambled eggs and a few other basic staple meals. Although…I did cook bread last week. All by myself," he bragged, tilting his chin up proudly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical.

Malfoy sagged once again. "Alright, so that nice old lady next door helped me a _little," _he admitted. "But I'll have you know that I kneaded that dough all on my own."

She chuckled and shook her head as she speared a green bean into her mouth.

"Are you mad?" he asked, his eyes resolutely on his food.

Hermione shook her head once more. "No. For some reason I find it endearing that you resorted to take out after burning an attempted home-cooked meal for me," she said, slightly amazed at herself.

"Endearing, eh?" He nodded to himself, wearing a dopey little grin.

"Although," she said, "I don't know why you thought you could get away with something like that. You know you left the bag from the restaurant right there on the kitchen floor, right?"

Draco winced. "I did?"

Hermione bit her lip as she attempted to stifle a laugh.

Malfoy bit his cheek, scrunching up his nose. "That was a pretty dumb move."

They both burst into laughter and Hermione nodded. "Not your brightest moment," she said between laughs.

They sat there like that, laughing together, for a few more moments before finishing their dinners in comfortable silence with smiles on their faces.


	22. Mornings and Newspapers

Hermione woke up to a pair of lips pressing a firm kiss against her neck. _"Hmmm,"_ she hummed. The lips moved steadily upward, tracing her jawline, then to her cheek, and she smiled to herself as she turned her head to press her lips against his.

She didn't even bother opening her eyes as she tangled her fingers in Draco's hair. His hands wandered slowly downward and she gasped as his fingers brushed between her legs.

_"__Draco,"_ she moaned.

"Good morning, Granger," he breathed into her ear.

She let out a deep exhale, bucking against his touch. "I…I could…get used to mornings like this," she admitted breathily. She opened her eyes to see him hovering over her, his gray eyes fiery and a crooked smirk upon his lips. His hair was messy and disheveled—from both sleep and their bedtime activities the night before—and the room was dimly lit by the faint gray light of morning leaking in through the sides of the window curtains.

"Mmmm," Draco hummed in reply. "Mornings with you are quickly becoming my favorite time of the day."

She reached her hand below the covers to take him firmly in her hand.

He let out a breathy exhale. "Favorite time of the _week,_" he corrected before groaning her name.

"I want you," Hermione whispered into his ear.

"You drive me crazy," Draco breathed, pressing his naked body against hers.

Her skin was buzzing at the contact, and she was now fully awake. She pulled him closer against her and let out a filthy moan as he pushed into her.

_"__Granger,"_ he groaned. "_Gods, _Granger, I…"

"Shut up and kiss me," she said, taking great pleasure in the way his eyes widened in surprise before he readily complied. He kissed her feverishly, moving with a newfound determination as he began pumping in and out of her. She arched her back in pleasure, letting his name fall from her lips over and over again.

They spent a good hour of their morning in bed, taking their time, their sensuous cries echoing throughout the large empty house.

"You know, I don't think I've ever had such a good start to such an early morning," Draco commented an hour and a half later as they sat at the kitchen table with their coffee and toast. They were both freshly showered and dressed, ready to go about their days.

Hermione grinned into her mug. "Me neither."

Malfoy leaned back in his chair. "You sure you don't want to come to Paris with me today?"

"I wish I could," she said with a sigh.

"What if I told you I can't bear the thought of waking up for three entire mornings without your beautiful face being the first thing I see?"

"Then I would take the following moment to remind you that your sweet talking charm won't work on me."

"Ah yes, you're immune," he said with a snap of his fingers. "How could I forget?"

She narrowed her brown eyes at him. "Don't test my patience this early in the morning, Draco."

"I like that you call me Draco now," he told her. "You know, I've dreamed for years of how my name would sound in your voice."

Hermione chuckled as she eyed him apprehensively. "What?"

He shrugged. "You always called me Malfoy in school—never Draco."

"You weren't lying when you said you fancied me at Hogwarts?"

Draco furrowed his eyebrows as she shook his head. "Why would I lie about that to a stranger?"

"Well…I mean… But you…but you hexed me with beaver teeth!"

He flinched. "I was a prat! I was an insufferable…"

"Ferret?" she suggested.

"You can't call me that anymore!" he whined. "Come on! I would like to retain at least _some_ dignity."

Hermione rose and walked over to straddle him on his chair. "I'm so sorry, _Draco,"_ she patronized.

"You're mocking me," he accused, his hands running down her thighs.

She laughed. "Maybe, but I really promise not to call you a ferret anymore." She made an X motion over her heart. "Cross my heart."

"Cross your heart? What's that?"

"It's a muggle saying—a promise. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye…."

Malfoys eyed widened. "Why the bloody hell would anyone hope to die and stick themselves in the eye with a needle?"

It was all Hermione could do to prevent herself from laughing. "It's not…it's not to be taken literally. It's just a rhyme."

He shook his head. "It's a very morbid rhyme. Muggles are even stranger than I took them for."

She grinned. "It just means you'll keep the promise. So I promise not to refer to ferrets at all with you anymore."

"That's not one of my favorite memories, you know!"

She bit her lip and let out a laugh through her nose as she remembered Draco's face after McGonagall turned him back to himself after Mad Eye (well, actually Barty Crouch Jr.) transformed him into a white ferret.

"I'm sure it was very traumatizing," she acknowledged.

"It was," he confirmed with a nod. "Hey! I have a favor to ask you before I take you in to work."

"Yes?" She began placing kisses along his face—at his temple, above his eyebrow, on his forehead, above his other eyebrow, at his other temple, his cheekbone, his nose…

He hummed contently.

"Draco?" she breathed against his chin.

"Mmm…yes?"

"You were about to ask me for a favor," she reminded him.

"Ah, yes. Well, err… I was…I was wondering if you could perform a bit of magic for me."

She leaned back and looked at him with wide eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

A few minutes later, Hermione was eyeing the walls of Draco's study. "Are you serious?" she asked him, unable to hide the amusement in her voice.

Malfoy was brooding. He was literally brooding as he leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets—his signature position. "Look, if you're going to tease me and make a huge deal about it, then never mind! I just thought that…I mean you mentioned it last night, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been thinking about it…"

"You want me to charm the walls of your study to be _green?"_ she repeated.

They were standing in his rather large study, where all the furniture was a dark stained oak. The vaulted ceiling sat high above them, and the largest desk she had ever seen sat in the middle of the study, facing away from a huge window that ran the entire length of the wall. The walls were all painted a deep burgundy color—similar to the color of the front door.

"I don't know, Draco," Hermione said thoughtfully as she looked around. "I rather like this color. It's very…Gryffindor."

Malfoy groaned. "Come on, Granger. I'm tired of staring at this color! It grates on my nerves. I have to spend almost every single day in this room. Will you please just do this for me?"

Hermione pursed her lips as she turned back to him. "What kind of green do you want it?"

His eyes lit up. "Wait, so you'll do it?"

She laughed. "Of course I will. I just wanted to make sure I got to tease you first. Since you're always seeming to tease me."

Malfoy smirked and stepped forward to grab her around the waist and pull her close. "I only tease you because I like you so much. And I love the way your cheeks get all pink when you're flustered." He ran a finger across her cheek.

She could feel the mentioned blush rising to her face now. She cleared her throat and stepped away. "Well, I'll charm your walls, but not because of…what you just said."

He stepped closer. "That I like you?"

She swallowed, taking a step backwards and bumping into the desk. "Yes."

He continued advancing. "That I love how you blush when I talk to you?"

She took a deep breath, not trusting herself to speak.

He pressed up against her, grabbing her by the back of her thighs and lifting her up onto the desk.

Her eyes fluttered closed as he dipped his head down to kiss her neck. Her head fell back and he pulled her flush against his body.

"Draco," she sighed.

"I love the way you say my name," he breathed against her neck.

She laughed breathily. "Draco, we need to leave soon. We…" her voice caught in her throat as he bit down on her bare skin. "We err… it's getting…late… Please. I can't be late…"

He pressed a firm kiss against her neck before looking back up to her. "Alright," he relented. "Can we pick this up on Tuesday?"

She grinned. "We'd better."

He groaned before backing away. "Alright. I'm going to grab my coat and start the car so it can warm up. I'll meet you at the front door." He grinned before exiting the room.

Hermione sat there, perched on the desk, her chest heaving and her mind foggy. She shook her head. _That man is…_ She'd never encountered someone who affected her so…completely.

Lifting her wand, she pointed it at the nearest wall and muttered an incantation. Then she got down from the desk, walking around the room and continuing to charm the rest of the walls. Soon they were a dark, cool green color. It was a subtle, relaxing color, and she thought it suited Draco quite well. She eyed the curtains, which were a dark red, and decided to charm those, too. Once they were a dark emerald green that complimented the walls nicely, she nodded in satisfaction and turned towards the door.

As she glanced around the room, her eyes caught on Draco's desk. There was a copy of _The Daily Prophet _sitting folded neatly in the middle of his desk. Her curiosity deepened, and she approached his desk, reaching for the newspaper.

She paled as the bold headline stood out above the rest.

**Potter Travels to America as Search For War Hero and Best Friend Hermione Granger Continues: An Act of Loyalty or Foolishness?**

She blinked rapidly as a picture of her from the Fall after The Battle of Hogwarts moved beneath the title. She stood still in the picture, shuffling only slightly, her hands folded in front of her as her eyes wandered around nervously. She remembered that picture—it was at a Ministry function. She'd been forced to attend with Harry and Ron, and it was the last place she'd wanted to be.

She swallowed as her eyes wandered down to the article.

**Harry Potter, War Hero, Auror, and Husband of Ginny Potter was seen obtaining a portkey this week for America. Upon confirming he has no Auror business in America, we finally discovered from a reliable source that he was headed across the Atlantic to continue his search for Hermione Granger.**

**Hermione Granger, as we all know, has been missing for well over two years. Not long after the trial and execution of Theodore Nott, the ministry announced that her missing persons case was being closed and that she was presumed dead.**

**With the exception of Ronald Weasley, none of the Weasley family—who Granger was very close to—have released a statement on their opinion of the most brilliant witch of our age's disappearance. **

**"****She's gone," Ronald once told ****_The Daily Prophet _****Reporter Michelle Avery. "We've searched—all of us, especially Harry—for any trace of her we could. If Hermione was alive, I think we'd know it. It's not like she would have just ****_run away_****. I don't think it's likely that Harry will ever find out what happened to her for sure. I just hope she has peace, wherever she is. We've made peace with her disappearance and her death. It wasn't easy, but we had to do it. Harry… Harry just won't give up. He's lost so many people in his life. Hermione was like a sister to him. I don't know if he'll ever give up searching for what happened to her."**

**Ronald Weasley may have given up on Hermione Granger, but Harry Potter, however, has continually announced that he will not abandon the search for the witch. He has searched far and wide, traveled to various countries—all in search of his childhood friend.**

**It is nearing the three year mark, and we ask now—is Potter's search an act of loyalty or foolishness? We wonder as well, what his wife, Ginny Potter, has to say about his continued trips and absences, not to mention the expenses—of his search for Hermione Granger. There have been rumors that the Potters are starting a family, although these rumors have been neither confirmed nor denied by anyone in the Weasley or Potter family. Will Harry Potter continue to traverse the world in search of a missing and probably deceased friend while his wife stays at home raising his children? How long will it take for Potter to give up his futile search? There has not been a single sighting of Granger, or a presence of her magic, in almost three years.**

**We want to hear from you, our readers! Feel free to write us with your opinion—we love to hear from you!**

Hermione stood there, frozen, the sides of the newspaper wrinkling in her death grip. It wasn't necessarily that she hadn't believed everything Malfoy had told her last weekend. She _did_ believe him—she hadn't doubted him at all. But reading this, and witnessing it firsthand… It was different.

Her hands began to shake and she realized that her breath was coming out in heavy gasps. She threw the newspaper down on the ground and leaned over the desk, holding on to the edges for her life.

She was overwhelmed with guilt. She'd known Harry was looking for her—she'd known for an entire week, and she'd done nothing. _Nothing._ She had sat around, worrying and wondering what she should do, then abandoned any plan and began messing around with Draco and _enjoying_ herself—all while Harry was leaving for _America_ to look for her!

Ginny must hate her. Merlin, they were married! Hermione had missed their wedding! The thought brought made her eyes water. She'd missed Harry and Ginny's _wedding._ She was a horrible friend.

She glanced over at the newspaper—the picture of herself at nineteen years old stared back at her. It mocked her.

_You had everything—and look what you've done. You abandoned everything and everyone in the life you built. And now what do you have? You have nothing. They won't even want you anymore. They'll be furious when they find out you abandoned them. They won't even want to be your friend anymore. They're better off without you at this point. You're weak. You don't deserve friends._

_You don't deserve anyone._


	23. Reminders

**I want to thank you all for the reviews. I love seeing how many people are enjoying this story, it's very encouraging! And I appreciate all the feedback and opinions ya'll have shared with me. I love hearing from you guys and hearing different perspectives on these characters and their decisions and actions!**

Draco pulled on his coat and walked out the garage door to his car with a smile on his face. _Merlin_, he liked that girl a lot. Who would have thought? _Hermione Granger!_ He started the car and pulled it out of the garage, parking on the driveway by the front door. He watched the clock on his radio as two full minutes went by. A simple interior design charm shouldn't take very long, should it? He suddenly realized she had probably found the copy of _The Daily Prophet _he purposefully set on his desk by now.

_Good,_ he thought as he sighed. If that were the case, then he wouldn't need to broach the subject himself. She needed to know—she needed to be reminded that some form of action was required, and he felt extremely uncomfortable having to be the one to remind her of that. It was a Slytherin move of him to leave it out for her to find like that, and probably a cowardly move as well, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it or feel bad about it. He was a Malfoy, after all. If he was going to be forced to be Granger's conscience in this instance, he was going to do it the only way he knew how-with cunning.

Another minute passed and he began tapping his fingers on his thigh. He grew antsy as he waited in the car. Was she upset?

_Don't be an idiot, Draco, of course she's upset._

Leaving the car on, he went back inside. He strolled down the hall towards his study.

"For someone who was fretting just a minute ago about being late, you're certainly devoting an ample amount of time to these walls," he said casually as he entered the study. He dropped the casual air as soon as he saw her.

She was a mess. She was bent over, gripping the edge of the desk as if her life depended on it, her eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed, and her bottom lip was quivering.

His shoulders sank. _Oh no._ Was she going to cry again? This was not what he had wanted at all. He hadn't wanted her to cry! He quickly approached her side, pulling her into his arms.

"Hey, it's alright," he assured her. She remained limp in his arms, which he took to be a bad sign. He looked down at his desk where _The Daily Prophet _was laying unfolded on the desk. "The walls look perfect," he tried to joke.

She shook her head. "'S not that," she sniffed.

He sighed. "I know. You saw the article, didn't you?" he asked.

She nodded into his shoulder.

"It's okay. Look, don't be upset. All this can be solved over one penned letter to Potter, right?"

She shook her head.

"No? Why not? What's wrong?" He pulled back and took her by the shoulders, looking at her face. "Talk to me."

Hermione wouldn't look him in the eyes. She shrugged, her eyes on the floor beside her. "Maybe I should just leave it alone," she said quietly.

Draco found himself reeling. _She wanted to do what?_ "What? Leave it alone? What do you mean?"

"They're going to hate me if I contact them."

Malfoy gave a laugh of disbelief. _"Hate you?_ Granger, they _love _you! Potter is going to bloody _America_ on some…some...empty lead just to find you, even when everyone else is convinced you're dead! The only thing they're going to do is be immensely relieved when they find out you're safe and alive!"

"I don't think that will be the case," she muttered. "Have you read the article?"

Malfoy shook his head. He'd only seen the headline.

She gave a shaky sigh. "Ron said they all made peace with my death."

"They all?"

"His family." She sniffed again.

He made a skeptical noise. "I don't think Weasel is necessarily the authority on his family's opinions. He isn't very bright, you know. And he's mostly talking out of his arse whenever he opens his mouth."

Hermione glared at him.

"Sorry," he offered—although he didn't, in actuality, feel very sorry. "But it's kind of true. I never understood why you dated him," he muttered.

She rolled her eyes. "We are so not getting into that discussion right now," she groaned.

Draco chuckled. "How about we move this discussion to the car so I can drive you to work?" he suggested, glancing at his watch. He knew how she was about being on time—if she was late to work, she'd be even more upset.

Hermione nodded and he put his arm around her shoulders as he steered her towards the door. It wasn't until they were well off his property and down the road that he finally broke the silence.

"Do you really want to leave them in the dark?" he asked.

Hermione was looking out the window, her posture slouched and defeated. "I don't know what I want."

Draco thought on this for a moment. "Well, I think it's probably as good a time as any to figure it out, don't you?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Just because you tell them you're here and your safe, doesn't mean you have to go back and leave your life here behind," he said. "You know that, right?"

She glanced at him. "Do you know Harry and Ron _at all? _I'll have no choice but to go back if I tell them I'm here. They'll all come barging into my life—all of them. Harry, Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys—each and every one of them. I love them, I do. But they'll…they'll suck me into that life and I'll never hear the end of it—of how selfish and irresponsible of a decision I made, how disappointed and heartbroken they were…"

Draco made a doubtful sound. "If I remember correctly, Granger, _you_ were the lecturing one in your group. I don't think I ever heard Scarhead or the Weasel criticize you _once_ in our entire time at Hogwarts."

"_Must _you call them that?" she asked exasperatedly.

Draco grinned. "Sorry. Old habit."

"Well _break_ the old habit," she grumbled. "They're my friends."

"They're your friends, huh?"

She said nothing, staring resolutely out the windshield.

"Friends inform friends when they're not dead," he told her.

He didn't even need to look away from the road to know she was glaring at him.

"I'm just saying!" he defended. "Just…just write Potter a letter. One little letter! It can't be that hard, can it?"

She sighed. "You'd be surprised."

Silence fell between them once more and Draco reached over to hold her hand. She offered him a small smile before turning her eyes back to the window.

"I feel guilty you know," she admitted softly.

They were met with the sounds of traffic and people going to and fro as they got closer to the city.

"About?" Malfoy prodded.

She shrugged. "A lot of things, I suppose."

_Not helpful,_ he thought. "Well list some reasons, then."

"I feel guilty for running away—obviously. I feel guilty for _staying_ away, for falling out of contact…for being happy now, here, for being so unhappy with my life before that I even wanted to run away in the first place…"

"You can't feel guilty for being unhappy! I mean, you _can_, but it's rather absurd, don't you think? I mean, Granger, come on! After everything you did to save the world—do you hear me? _You saved the world._ It wasn't _just_ Potter who fought the Dark Lord, you had a major hand in his defeat as well. And after everything you sacrificed, everything you lost, you're going to feel guilty because you felt the need to pursue a quieter life? A life that made you happy? That's nonsense." He shook his head. "Sure, you should have stayed in contact with the people who cared about you. But it's not like you were actively trying to worry them. You've only known the full repercussions of your disappearance for a week. If you're going to feel guilty about anything, feel guilty about not having picked up a pen and informed them that you're alive."

He felt Granger's eyes on his face. "Not that I think you should feel guilty about anything," he added quickly. "Trust me, I know a little about guilt. You're completely blameless—practically perfect. You've lived a good life. You've never sought out to hurt anyone."

His tone had turned slightly bitter somewhere in the latter part of the conversation as his mind wandered to darker places.

"Draco," she began softly, "you're a better person than you used to be. You know that, right? I haven't known you…you know, now…for very long, but I can see as well as anybody that you're a good man. I hope you know that."

He snorted. "This conversation isn't about me. We're not even going to go there right now," he muttered. "Look, I just…all you have to do is write a simple letter. This is all a misunderstanding. That's all it is—a simple misunderstanding with a very simple solution. Go into the wizarding part of town, find an owlery, and send Potter a letter. The end."

She nodded before resuming to look out the window, watching the cars fly past them.

"Thank you," she said after a few quiet moments.

He looked at her like she had gone mad. "For what?"

"For…for being a good friend."

He scrunched up his nose. "Err…"

"I mean to say…" she laughed, "for caring about me and trying to help me. You've been good to me. It's… I like it. I like _you,_" she said so softly he almost didn't hear her.

Relieved at the subject change, he grinned at her, moving his hand to squeeze her thigh briefly before taking her hand in his once more. "I like you too. But I've heard that you're a bright witch, so I'm sure you've already figured that out."

She chuckled and began running her thumb across the back of his hand. He couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the drive.


	24. Lovesickness

Draco spent the next four days fretting.

Fretting!

_Malfoys don't fret,_ he admonished himself internally. _You're acting like a pubescent school girl. Stop it._

He was currently sitting in the waiting area of a rather large office building, waiting for his executive client to arrive for a meeting. He glanced at his watch and realized he still had ten minutes until his appointment. He sighed and adjusted the cuffs on his sleeves. _More time to think, _he realized with a grimace.

All weekend long, he hadn't been able to shake thoughts of Hermione Granger. Had she written Potter yet? Probably. It would be very unlike her to let this situation continue to grow out of hand. She had mostly likely already taken action.

It was Tuesday morning now. If she had written Potter before the weekend's end, then he had definitely received the letter already. He was probably there in Claremont at this very moment, sweeping her into some kind of brotherly reconciliation.

He had probably convinced her to go back to Britain.

Draco would never see Hermione again.

He sighed in frustration.

Why should he care anyway? Granger could do whatever she wanted. It was her life. If she wanted to go back to England and reconvene with her friends, so be it. Good for her. She would have inevitably ended up with them anyway, at some point or another. She'd be happier with the people she cared about in her life.

So why did the thought of her leaving make him feel like he was going to lose his breakfast?

He had only been seeing the girl for a few weeks. This was an incredibly irrational reaction for him to have. But he was having it regardless—and that aggravated him to no end.

_Alright, alright,_ he thought to himself. _Let's think about this logically, shall we? _

_Scenerio one: Potter comes to visit her, and she decides to leave France. She goes back to Britain. She falls out of contact with me, and I never hear from her or see her again. Fine. That's fine. It's not like we're inseparably close anyway. We went on a few dates, had a few conversations, spent a couple of nights together... Granted, they were amazing nights, but they were just a few nights regardless. It's not as if I've never spent a few nights with some girl and then never talked to her again. I've done that plenty of times._

Maybe it was…slightly different with Granger, but…

_Alright, then. Scenerio two: Potter comes to visit her and they make up. She decides to remain in France, carry on her life the way it is. Potter and Weasel and the rest of them visit her from time to time, and she visits them often as well. Perfectly logical scenario. And then what? She lives her anonymous life as Joan Spinner and I see her from time to time?_

He snorted to himself.

_Right. Scarhead and Weasel will love that. Sure, they'll just sit by and allow it to happen! They'll be fine with their best friend/little sister/ex-girlfriend sleeping with the sworn enemy of their youth. _

Draco shook his head and leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair he was sitting in.

If Potter and Weasley ever found out that he and Hermione were seeing each other—sleeping together, even—he'd end up dead in a ditch somewhere, he was sure of it. Maybe Potter would even rescind his testament of Draco's innocence and have him thrown in Azkaban, where he would rot away and die like his father.

_Alright,_ Draco thought to himself, _I think I've hit my limit of morbid and illogical wonderings for the week._

He tried to shut down his entire thought process—he'd been trying to do that all weekend. But it was easier said than done, and he had been plagued with thoughts of Hermione since he dropped her off at work on Saturday morning.

"Will you call me this weekend?" she'd asked him after kissing him goodbye.

He'd grinned at her question, his eyes wandering to the shop behind her. "At work?"

She shook her head. "I have a phone at home, too."

"Well why don't you call me tonight when you get home then, so I can save your number in my phone?"

"Alright," she agreed, fingering a button on the front of his jacket.

_Merlin, _he sure liked it when she did that. Memories of her, half naked, unbuttoning his shirt as they fell onto his bed the night before came unbidden to his mind and he swallowed thickly. The fragile look upon her face as their bodies joined popped into his head right along with it. How she kissed him with cheeks flushed red, her warm brown eyes gazing at him with this tender affectionate look in them, her pink lips turning up into a smile right before she laughed…

"Yeah," he said.

She crinkled her eyebrows. "Yeah? Yeah, what?"

He blinked. "What? Nothing. I just…" He shrugged, trying to focus on her face now—the disguised one she wore presently. _Get it together, man!_ "I was just thinking about how much I'll miss you while I'm gone."

She bit her lip shyly and he grinned at the familiar gesture. She had all these little habits and mannerisms that gave her away, no matter what face she had on—Joan Spinner's or her own.

He was such a sucker for her. That was a fact, and he didn't even really seem to mind.

She glanced behind her at the shop, where Florence turned over the _open_ sign on the front door. She smirked through the window at the couple before turning away.

"That's probably my cue," Hermione said. "Travel safely."

He leaned down and kissed her once more. "Will do. I'll talk to you tonight?"

She nodded before wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him. He hugged her tightly back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he did so.

She stepped back and smiled. "Bye."

He watched her as she went inside. "Bye," he called after her.

They had talked on the phone each night—for quite a long time, in fact, about multiple things.

"So you really take a plane to Paris?" she had asked him in wonderment.

"They're actually not all that terrible, once you get used to it."

"I never expected that _Draco Malfoy_ would willingly fly in a Muggle plane," she had marveled.

"I'm full of surprises."

"I'm not denying it," she laughed. "Seriously though, I almost don't believe you. I feel like I need to see it for myself. You on a plane," she laughed.

"I mean, it wasn't easy at first. The first…oh, ten times, I about went into cardiac arrest every time I boarded one of those things. I was actually put back into my seat by force the first time. I got a bit hysterical and wanted to get off the plane, but it had already started approaching the runway, so they gave me a bloody sedative and strapped me back in. I was almost arrested," he told her with a laugh.

She'd gotten a kick out of that. Then they had discussed books, of course.

"I finished Love in a Time of Cholera."

"What did you think?" He could hear the excitement in her voice.

"I thought it was…intense. That Florentino character was a right lunatic."

She chuckled. "Well of course—the entire theme of the novel was to depict love as a physical illness; a plague comparable to Cholera."

"So love is a plague, is it?"

"…I'm certain it can be. Lovesickness, maybe."

"Lovesickness," Draco repeated, his tone tinged with amusement. "Eating flowers and perfume in an attempt to remember what his long lost lover smelled like, reveling in spending two days in jail for serenading her at her window when she was married to someone else—showing up to her husband's funeral fifty years after their affair ended to profess his undying love and devotion for her… Lovesickness. Sounds about right."

"Well it wasn't just Florentino who was driven mad by love. Everyone in that story who fell in love or cultivated an affair of some kind was involved in a massive overreaction of sorts. Olimpia's husband finds a hickey on her stomach and slits her throat in his jealous rage, when Florentino abruptly ends his affair with America for Fermina, she kills herself… Even Florentino's mother goes mad after taking great pains to prepare a marriage for him and Fermina, before dying... the Widow Nazaret decides to become a prostitute after a single empassioned encounter with him… Everyone in that story is driven mad in some way by their experiences with love."

"That's a very morbid theme," he commented.

"It is," she agreed.

"And Florentino was most definitely a sex addict," he added.

She laughed at this. "Lots of people use sex as a method of comfort after having their heart broken, but yes, I agree. He was quite mad."

"A raging lunatic, that one."

"All insanity aside," she said, "I do think it was beautiful that they sailed off into the sunset at the end together. That after fifty entire years, he never gave up on her. It's a bit romantic, don't you think?"

"Hermione Granger, most brilliant Witch of her age, Bookkeeper and Authority on all things in the field of literature, certified Healer, and finally: Bleeding Heart, Hopeless Romantic."

"That's quite the title," she laughed.

"I agree."

They had spent at least an hour on the phone each night—usually longer—and Draco was definitely looking forward to seeing her tonight when he got back to Claremont.

Kind of.

He loved spending time with her, talking to her, kissing her—among other things, of course—but what was going to happen next? Draco, for one, was not a fan of being on the receiving end of violence. And he would place money on the odds of Weasel and Scarhead making him pay for every moment he spent with Granger. This whole situation, their agreement, whatever they had going on right now—it was perfect. It was perfect because there was no one around to bother them about it. There were no reporters to snoop and publish rumors about them, there were no nosy family members and friends to comment and judge their actions—it was just him and Hermione. He liked it that way. It was so relaxed, so natural.

However, Draco Malfoy may be many things—a businessman, a former Death Eater, a bit of a drunk, an only child, a Slytherin, an impatient man—but he was not, nor ever would be, a fool. He knew better than to think this peace would last long. Whatever he and Hermione had right now, it was probably too good to last, and he needed to keep himself from forgetting that.

Because, one day, Granger would be gone. That was a fact.

A beautiful, perfect, overachieving, just, righteous little Gryffindor wasn't going to end up with someone like him. Draco could recognize that he had changed, that although he constantly lived with the guilt from everything he had done up until four years ago, he was a better person now. But the fact remained that he and Granger's differences were just too great. And whatever they were doing now was most likely a temporary arrangement.

Draco had spent all weekend telling himself that it was fine, that he didn't care.

But as he thought on the madness that overtook Florentino at the end of his affair with Fermina—how their families separated them because Florentino wasn't good enough for her—it didn't sit well with him. Fermina was good, stubborn, loving, funny, and beautiful. _That _was awfully familiar. And Florentino just couldn't let go. He could never find someone that held a candle to her. He spent the rest of his life seeking out empty comfort in other women's arms, evoking destruction and pain wherever he went—all because he loved this girl. For fifty years, he actively pined for this woman, was haunted by her every day.

Draco could only hope that he would never fall in so deep for Hermione Granger that he couldn't get out.


	25. Spells and Kisses

**Dear god, ya'll. It just hit me what a long fanfic this is going to be. It's going to be long! Holy shit, what have I started? I'm already planning a freaking sequel in my head! What have I done? This is never going to be over! Omggg.**

**Although I can't lie, I am really enjoying writing this.**

**Okay so I've never heard the word "grimoire" used in JK's books, but I'm using it anyway. I figured it'd be cool. I don't know. Like maybe a very ancient, specific kind of spell book for certain kinds of magic-that's a grimoire. I don't know. Maybe my obsession with Supernatural is bleeding through. I have a major Harry Potter/Supernatural obsession problem. So I hope referring to a grimoire doesn't bug anyone. I realize it might not be exactly canon, but I'm going with it anyway. It's fanfiction after all!**

**Okay. Here we go:**

Hermione's weekend seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

They were very busy at the book shop due to a newly released novel—one they all but sold out of by the time Monday morning rolled around. Hermione fell into her work with a smile on her face—as she normally did—and looked forward to her evenings, which she spent on the phone with Draco. She read a total of four books between Saturday and Tuesday, which was a relatively low number for her. When she woke up on Tuesday morning, she grinned at the knowledge that Draco would be back in town later that day.

She still hadn't written Harry.

She'd made several attempts. She spent the first half of her Saturday evening trying to find the words to put down on paper, but in the end, she became so overwhelmed that she abandoned the project altogether.

**_Harry,_**

**_I was informed last week that you are searching for me and that I am presumed dead. __I'm not dead.__ I am very much alive, and I'm living __in Claremont, Fr_**

She paused before scratching that out.

**-in_ France. I'm so sorry I haven't written. I have no excuse. I have been a terrible and negligent friend, and I hope you can forgive me. Please forgive me._**

**_I am very happy here. I work in a bookshop, and I live a simple and quiet, magic-free life. __I am even seeing someone now, actually__._**

She scratched out the last line-twice.

**_I want you to know that I never intended to run away from you, or from anyone. I came here for the purpose of taking a holiday, and I just snapped under all the pressure of my life. I just never came back. __I still don't want to come back, I like my life here.__ I'm so sorry, Harry. I don't want you to worry about me. I'm quite safe. __I had no idea that anyone thought I was dead until_**

Scratching out yet another line, she tried again.

**_I didn't know you would be so worried_**

**_I had no idea I was presumed dead_**

**_I heard that you and Ginny got married__._**

She scratched all those out, too.

**If_ I had known that you and the Weasleys thought I was dead, __I would never have _**

Another scratch.

**I_ wouldn't have stayed away like I did._**

**_If you want to __write me, you can send me a letter by Muggle post_**

No, that was terrible. She crossed it out.

**_You can visit me. __My address is_**

With a frustrated sigh, she crossed out the last bit.

**Just_ write me and we can figure this out._**

**_I'm sure you're angry, and rightly so. __I've been a terrible _**

Another angry scratch. She started the line again.

**_Please let me know if there is anything I can do to fix this, although I understand if you are too angry. I hope you are well, and I hope you and Ginny are happy. __Please inform the Weasleys that I'm alive and_**

And what? Scratch.

**I_ don't quite know how to go about this, I feel very uncomfortable-_**

Yes, that much was obvious. _Scratch._

**_I am very sorry. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. You are like a brother to me, I love you. __Please don't hate me._**

By the time she completed her fifth draft to Harry, she was nearing absolute panic, unable to form intelligible thoughts on paper any longer and second-guessing herself at every turn. So she crumpled up the letter, made a cup of tea, and sat down with a book. Draco called her not long after that, and he took her mind off the subject completely. As she crawled into bed later that night, she decided she would finish writing Harry tomorrow.

The next day she decided the same thing.

And on Monday, she told herself she would do it on Tuesday.

Tuesday came, and all she could think about was that she would see Draco.

As she returned to her apartment on her lunch break Tuesday afternoon, she stared guiltily at the crumpled letters on her desk.

It was incredibly ironic that she, Hermione Granger—who had faced a mountain troll before she was twelve, who had survived being petrified, came face to face with a werewolf third year, fought against some of Britain's most evil witches, wizards, and death eaters, had been tortured for hours, lived on the run for a year, broken into the most heavily guarded bank in England, and even been in direct battle during the war—brave, sensible, courageous, _brilliant_ Hermione Granger—somehow couldn't manage to sit down and write a letter to her best friend.

She set down her sandwich, her appetite disappearing at the thought. She took a sip of tea and it turned sour in her mouth.

Maybe she wasn't brave anymore. Maybe she wasn't as smart as people said. If her fourteen year old self could see her now, she would be disgusted. For someone who fought for justice and always tried to do what is right—whether it be fighting evil forces or pushing for the better treatment of house elves—Hermione Granger certainly wasn't doing much _right_ at the moment.

Writing Harry was the right thing to do. Going back to Britain and rejoining her friends was probably the right thing to do.

And yet, here she was, in her little flat in France, living a fake life—not doing anything she probably _should_ be doing.

And the truth was that her life _was_ fake. Marion and Florence were the closest to family or friends that she had here, and they didn't even know who she really was! They had no idea what kind of a life she had lived—they didn't even know her name.

Recognizing that the familiar feeling of anxious depression was beginning to set in, she decided to start moving. She put away her lunch and was immediately out the door, on her way back to work.

She had just walked in the door when she was shaken from her concentrated state by a collision with someone's body that knocked her down.

_"__Oof!" _she grunted as she fell backwards onto her rear.

"Granger, I do believe you just fell for me," came a familiar drawl.

Hermione looked up from where she now sat on the floor and smiled at the blonde man that stood before her.

She gave an embarrassed laugh. "Nice play on words," she retorted.

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Draco reached down and helped her up off the floor. "You alright? That was quite the tumble just then."

Her cheeks warmed. "Yeah, I'm fine," she assured him, looking around in embarrassment.

His eyes glinted with amusement as they wandered over her frame. "No injuries?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just my pride."

He grinned before leaning down and kissing her on the cheek.

"When did you get back?" she asked, rubbing her sore arse.

"Just now, actually."

Her face lit up with a knowing smile. "And this was the first place you stopped? Wow, you like books even more than I previously figured."

"Something like that," he said through his grin.

"Uh…yeah, I'm still here," came a voice behind Draco.

Hermione leaned over to see Florence standing behind him, arms crossed, wearing a knowing grin on her face.

"Oh, hello, Florence," she greeted.

"I was just telling Draco you'd gone home on your lunch break," she said good-naturedly. "But now that you're here, I think I'll just leave you guys to it." With a shake of her head, she turned and walked away, muttering to herself.

Hermione frowned. "Did I just hear her mumbling something about love birds?" she asked, turning back to Draco.

Draco shrugged. "I was just about to swing by your flat. Do you still have some time before you need to go back on the clock?"

Hermione looked over to the large clock that sat on the easternmost wall. "I have about twenty five minutes left."

"Perfect," he said as he took her by the hand. "Come on."

Hermione was swept around 180 degrees as he pulled her back towards the door. "Where are we going?"

He held the door open for her and she stepped outside. "To my car. I found something this weekend I want to show you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What is it?"

"A book," he answered as he led her to his car.

"A book," she repeated. "What…what kind of book?"

He unlocked his car and opened the passenger door for her. "Get in and I'll show you."

Intrigued, she obliged and slid into the seat. He closed the door behind her and walked around to the driver's side before joining her. He reached behind him in the backseat and retrieved a very small but thick, old tome. The front cover was worn black satin, and carved on the front were two diamonds, one within the other. A daffodil sat within the inner diamond, surrounded by various carvings and sigils. Along the outer edges of the larger diamond, there were four symbols—a skull, a sythe, an hourglass, and fire.

"Is that a grimoire?" she asked, her eyes going wide. He nodded, looking very proud of himself.

She took it from his hands and placed it gingerly on her lap, opening the cover with great care. The title was written in large, spiral writing across the front page. _La Poule Noire,_ it read. Her heart jumped with excitement.

"Draco, this is ancient! Do you know what this is? This is _La Poule Noir!_ The Black Pullet! This is a very well sought after book—very famous. Even the Muggles have a record of this book. They think it was written by a French officer in Napoleon's army who was rumored to be a necromancer. This is a very, _very_ rare tome," she marveled, studying the book in amazement. "You know, the enchantments in here originally came Egypt. They say it was a scroll rescued from Ptolemy's Library—the Library of Alexandria! I've read about this book before. I never thought I'd actually_ see _it!" She was practically squeaking with excitement.

He laughed. "Well if I had known it'd make you this happy, I would have gotten it a week ago. I'll bring you an old, rare book every _day_ if you're going to react like this each time."

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

"Wizarding Paris."

She frowned at him. "Why were you in Wizarding Paris?"

"Looking for this. First, I have a bit of a confession to make."

She watched him apprehensively. "Okay…"

"Since finding out who you really are, it's been kind of…uncomfortable to see you with… like… err…this," he finished awkwardly.

"Looking like a stranger, you mean."

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm just having a bit of a struggle reconciling you with…you. I mean to say…" He rubbed his hand along his jaw nervously. "Well, it feels odd to see you and kiss you and all that when you don't look like yourself."

Hermione's cheeks began to redden and she couldn't help but smile shyly.

"You said you tweaked a spell for your appearance," he continued. "You're very proficient with spells and charms. You know this, I know this. That being said, my mother had this necklace once that she'd had charmed with some kind of old revealing spell. It was a long time ago, but she got it from someone in my father's family—the Malfoys are originally from France, you know—and she said that she—"

"You want me to charm an object that will allow you to see through my spell," Hermione guessed.

Draco's mouth snapped shut and he looked rather surprised. "…Yes," he confirmed.

Hermione immediately began looking through the pages of the book. "The spell is in here?" she asked. "What object are you wanting me to charm?"

His posture relaxed slightly. "_Sweet Circe_, you're sexy when you do that."

She looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"You're so… You're just brilliant, is all. It's sexy."

Hermione stared at him, her spelled hazel eyes wide and her creamy cheeks going full on red. "I…err…" she gave a breathy laugh and tucked her hair nervously behind her ear. Nobody had ever paid her that sort of compliment before. Ron and Harry had always complained and teased her for her bookish habits and resolute dedication to her studies. She had never felt ashamed or embarrassed by her intellect or her love for learning—it was part of who she was, and she was proud of it. But no one had ever told her it was an attractive quality. It had never crossed her mind that a man might find it…_sexy._ She didn't quite know how to respond.

Draco shook his head, watching her with marveling eyes. "Anyway, it should be in there. That's the book my mother mentioned was used."

Hermione blinked out of her stupor, returning her focus on the book in her lap. "Okay, let's see what we have here." She turned the pages almost reverently. "There's some dark magic in here," she said. "This is…_where_ exactly did you get this?"

"France is far more liberal about their magic texts than Britain. I got it in one of the oldest magical book shops in the country. I'd been inquiring about this book all weekend. I finally located it early this afternoon, and I picked it up on my way to the airport."

Hermione stared at him. "You obtained _this_ in the matter of _one weekend?"_

He shrugged. "It's amazing what you can get done when you have a bit of money to throw around."

She blinked repeatedly. "Okay. Well, wow."

She shook her head and turned back to the pages before her. Draco sat in silence as she studied its pages for a few minutes, watching her eyes rapidly moving over the words and diagrams.

About ten minutes passed by before she exclaimed that she'd found it. "Alright. This is…like nothing I've ever seen before. The list of ingredients is extensive. Eugh."

"What?"

She scrunched up her face in disgust. "It requires goat's blood. That's…repulsive."

"Blood? But that's blood magic, then," Draco said, his face darkening.

Hermione made an indecisive sound. "Not _exactly._ It's not a dark spell. All the ingredients are… I mean, it isn't dark magic. It's animal blood, not human blood, and it doesn't require an excessive amount. It's just a very ancient, old-fashioned kind of magic."

"Can you do it?"

She scoffed. "Of course I can."

Malfoy's mouth turned up into a grin. "I think I might be rubbing off on you, Granger."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said affectionately. "If I make you a list of some things, can you get them for me?"

He nodded. "Sure."

She sighed. "It's been a long time since I've done any kind of magic like this."

"Well…you don't _have_ to, if you don't want to. I just thought that…"

She shook her head adamantly. "No, no—it'll be nice. I miss magic sometimes."

"Me too."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "How much longer until they unbind your magic, by the way? I never asked."

"Nineteen months down, five months to go," he grumbled.

"You've only got five months left?"

He nodded.

"Then what?" she asked.

"Then I get my magic back, I think." He pushed his hair back.

"No, I mean, then what are you going to do?"

"Do? Well I'm going to do magic. I'm going to do as much magic as I can," he said with a laugh.

"No…" She looked up at the ceiling of the car, suddenly feeling very anxious. "Are you going to go back to England?"

Draco frowned and looked at her intently. "Why?"

She blinked, her cheeks going hot. "Why? Because I…" _Because I'd like us to live in the same place so I can see you as often as possible,_ she thought. _And if you go back to England, and I'm here…_ "I...I'm just…curious," she lied.

He studied her intently for a moment before shaking his head. "I have absolutely no plans to go back to England—other than for my final appearance in front of the Wizengamot, where they will hopefully unbind my magic."

She looked away rather quickly, her shoulders relaxing at his answer. She turned back to the book in her lap and nodded. "Good. I mean—" she looked back up at him in embarrassment. "I mean, you know…good for you. I um…"

The corner of Draco's lips lifted into a smirk. "You mean, you'd miss me if I left."

Hermione blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she struggled for some kind of response. "I…I just…"

He chuckled. "Shut up and kiss me," he told her.

A laugh bubbled out of her mouth at the fact that he was using her own line against her.

Then she did.

**I know the fact that Hermione is dragging her feet to contact Harry is a bit of a stretch, but don't worry. It will all pan out soon. Everything they're doing serves a purpose, and I'm confident it will all come together at the end perfectly. It won't be long now, I promise. I know you guys are dying for the ending! And when Harry comes along...you'll see. We're talking EXPLOSIONS! **


	26. Movies and Talismans

**Sorry I uploaded the same chapter twice! I'm so tired! lol**

**Here you go:**

"_This_ is what you want to use?" Hermione asked Draco incredulously. They were standing in the kitchen of her apartment later that evening, ingredients spread out on the table beside a smoking cauldron. Hermione's hair was beginning to frizz up, as it usually did when she spent considerable amounts of time bent over a cauldron. He had just handed her his family ring—a heavy silver ring bearing the Malfoy family crest.

Draco nodded. "I used to wear it all the time, I never took it off. It's the only piece of jewelry I have here with me."

"But it's your family ring! The spell will carve seven symbols on the inside of it. I don't want to tamper with your family ring!"

"This ring isn't even important to me anymore. There's no pride to be had in the Malfoy name these days. It's goblin-made, so it can't be destroyed—only altered. Don't worry about it. Besides, my mother's charmed necklace was a family heirloom, and she didn't have a problem with turning it into a talisman. She wore it all the time during the war, for protection against enemies in disguise."

Hermione frowned at that. "Hold on, so does that mean she was able to recognize Harry that night at the Manor? If she could see through magical alterations, was she able to see that it was Harry even through my stinging hex?"

Draco's mouth went slack and his eyes widened. "I…I don't know. I didn't even think about that."

"Your mother certainly seems to be an enigma," she muttered. "You're really sure about this?"

He nodded. "Go ahead."

She finally gave a nod of reluctance. "Alright, if you're sure…" She set the ring down carefully on the table, the heavy metal making a soft clink as she did so. Picking up her wand again, she stirred the cauldron's contents counter-clockwise four times, then added the vial of goat's blood. She glanced at the book, reading through the next few instructions before reaching for the large square of black satin that sat on the table. She smoothed it out on the wood, before dragging her wand over it and muttering the proper incantation. Three sigils appeared on the cloth as she did so, seeming to burn into the material.

Glancing up at Draco, she smiled. "Here we go."

She picked up the ring and set it on the black satin, muttered the next incantation, and pressed the ring to her lips before folding the ring within the cloth. She glanced at Draco, who was watching her with raised eyebrows.

"I'm just…following the instructions," she defended, embarrassment becoming apparent as her cheeks tinged pink.

He smirked. "If you want to kiss my ring, Granger, by all means—go right ahead. Whenever you like—you don't even have to ask."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're such a prat," she muttered through a smile. Then she gingerly dropped the ring and cloth into the cauldron, which made a sizzling hiss before the smoke turned from clear to dark gray.

She waved her hand through the air, trying to clear some of the smoke. Then she held her wand over the cauldron and read the last incantation from the book.

_"__Sader, Prostas, Solaster_." The smoke turned even darker. _"Nades, Suradis, Manier."_ There was a loud _hiss,_ and they leaned away from the cauldron instinctively.

Suddenly, the smoke cleared.

She and Draco both leaned carefully over the cauldron to inspect its contents. The cauldron was now empty of all contents, save the ring.

Draco reached in and picked it up, holding it out for observation. The silver glinted in the light. Along the inside of the band were seven sigils, just as Hermione had said there would be.

"Let's try it out," Draco said eagerly.

Hermione lifted her wand to her head. _"Et Commuta Habitum,"_ she said.

Draco watched as her appearance changed—her hair darkening, her eyes turning hazel, her face and height both changing as well.

He took a deep breath, and slipped the ring on the middle finger of his right hand. He looked back up at her to find Joan Spinner gone, and Hermione standing there instead. He blinked in surprise. He could see her—plain as day. She looked just like herself.

He smiled, reaching out to touch a lock of her honey brown hair. "It works," he told her.

She made a happy little sound and smiled, looking very proud of herself. "Good," she said with a nod. "Alright, I'll get this cleaned up and you can go put on that movie you wanted to watch."

Draco smirked. "Okay. But first…" He pulled her into a deep kiss, one hand on her back, pulling her flush against him, the other hand brushing along her cheek. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip in a way that sent shivers down her back. He finally pulled back, touching her lip tenderly with his thumb, before grinning and turning towards her living room.

Once Hermione caught her breath, she focused on the evidence of her completed spell before her. As she closed the grimoire carefully, she warmed inside, feeling that familiar satisfaction of having completed a new challenge once more. It had been so long since she had performed any kind of challenging magic! She cleared her table of the leftover ingredients with a vanishing spell and gave a sigh of contentment. Oh, how she had missed this.

Draco had become very fond of Muggle films. He normally watched them with rapt attention, but during the first few minutes, he had seemed more interested in fondling Hermione than anything else. Finally, as the introductory scene ended, Hermione demanded that Draco focus.

Draco agreed, grumbling under his breath, before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close against him. She snuggled up to him there on the couch, and they both turned their attention to the film with smiles on their faces.

He had chosen a sci-fi movie called Timeline, about a group of scientists who end up trapped in 14th century France.

"You know, this is actually based on a book," Hermione told him as the lead character came on screen.

"Really," Draco responded with a knowing smile. He trailed his finger lightly across her skin from her jaw down to her right elbow before pressing his lips softly to her shoulder. "And how does the book rate on your scale?"

"My scale?"

"I'm just saying that you're undoubtedly a very good judge of literature."

She hummed skeptically. "I quite enjoyed the book. It's written by Michael Crighton. He writes that Jurassic Park series—the one about the dinosaurs. They're very popular. They made an entire Jurassic Park film series as well."

Draco paused in the kisses he was placing along her shoulder. "Dinosaurs?"

She nodded. "They're very closely related to dragons. All extinct now, though."

He frowned. "Muggles know about dragons?"

"Well, no, not really. They think dragons are a fictional legend. But they collect the bones of dinosaurs and put them in museums. They're able to deduce quite a bit of information about dinosaurs just from studying their fossils."

"They display _skeletons_ in museums?" He seemed rather affronted.

Hermione laughed. "It's quite impressive, really. There's an entire science devoted to it—paleontology."

His eyes lingered on the TV screen for a moment. "I see. I'd like to see one of these dinosaur skeletons some time," he said. "Do they have any of those museums here?"

Hermione, through great struggle, was barely able to refrain from laughing. "I'm not sure. I can look into it though. There are even more types of dinosaurs than there are dragons. They're quite fascinating."

_"__You're_ quite fascinating," Draco said through a smile as he continued kissing her shoulder, his hands wandering to her thighs.

_"__Draco,"_ she protested. "We're…" She jumped as he ran his fingers over a particularly sensitive spot. "We're…but the movie!"

"What about it?" he purred in her ear.

"You're not even…watching it!" she complained.

"How can I when there's something much more interesting to distract me?"

She bit her lip. "Draco, come on. There's plenty of time for this…mmmm…later! Come on," she pleaded.

Draco sighed. "Alright, alright. Sorry." He kissed her one last time before turning back to the screen.

Hermione chuckled as she put her head on his shoulder and turned back to the television as well.

Mere moments later, Draco startled her with an exclaiming cry. "The professor went back in time!" he all but shouted.

She couldn't help but laugh at how impressed he was by the film. "He certainly did."

"They're all going to go back in time now, aren't they? To bring him back? Especially his son—his son will want to save him."

Hermione leaned back to look at him through narrowed eyes. "Are you one of those people who likes to guess how the movie is going to end every time something happens?"

Draco suddenly looked unsure. "Is that a bad thing?"

She shook her head affectionately. "It's fine," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

Draco continued commenting on the plot as the movie continued. He asked Hermione for answers—seeing as she'd read the book, she knew how it would end—but she refused to give anything away.

"He's going to die, isn't he? Don't shrug like you don't know! You _do_ know! You didn't even warn me that they were going to kill Francois! There was no warning! I wasn't prepared!"

"They're not going to make it back in time, are they? They're going to be stuck in the past! _Tell me, Granger!"_

"Is she going to die? She's going to die, isn't she?"

"Oh wow, they've botched their entire timeline, haven't they? _Haven't they?_ He saved that girl when she was supposed to die, and now it's changing history forever! You know, there's a reason wizards don't go back in time and meddle. This is exactly the kind of thing that happens. These bloody Muggles. What are they doing, thinking they can mess with time like this?"

"I bet he's going to fix the time machine in _just_ the nick of time. Won't he? _Won't he, _Granger? Merlin's beard, you are being so hard to read right now."

"What the _hell?_ That bastard was from the future the entire time? Damn, Granger."

"Holy shit, he just _killed _his own coworker. Wow. You know, I always hated him. I hated him from the very beginning. He's been an arse from the very start."

"What? They're going to go back to the future and leave him there? They're just going to _leave_ him? Are they crazy?"

"Wow, he ended up being king. That's…I didn't see that coming. You could've given me a hint, Granger."

His commentary had Hermione laughing almost the entire time. As the movie ended and the credits rolled, she sighed. "We really need to work on your film-watching manners. I imagine if I were to take you to a movie theater, we would get kicked out."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Manners? I have excellent manners. I'm a _Malfoy._ I was raised with impeccable manners."

Hermione gave him a dubious look.

His confidence seemed to waned a bit. "Well…mostly."

She laughed at that.

He sat up straight, scooting over to look at her square in the eye. "So you haven't said anything about Potter," he said, raising one eyebrow.

Hermione immediately tensed. "What… What am I supposed to say?"

"Well I'm surprised he isn't here right now. I figured he'd show up as soon as he got your letter."

She instantly assumed a very guilty expression, looking away from him and fiddling with the throw pillow beside her.

Draco leaned forward. _"You haven't written him yet?"_ he asked in disbelief. "Granger, you had four entire days!"

"I know!" she said defensively. Her chin jutted out in that stubborn way she had. "I… I _will,_ I just…"

_"__When? _How long exactly are you planning on waiting?"

"I tried to write a letter, alright! I just…couldn't find the words. The right words, I mean. I wrote at least four or five drafts, I just…" She shook her head and her shoulders sagged in a defeated manner.

"I'm confused," he began. "What is it that's keeping you from just sending him a letter? All it has to say is _hello Harry, it's me—Hermione Granger. I'm not actually dead. Love, your best friend of over a decade."_

"It's not that simple, and you know it!"

"Maybe not, but I certainly don't think it's as complicated as you're making it out to be."

"Can we please not talk about this?"

"Sure. If you finish this one last conversation with me, I promise I won't bring it up again. I'll stop hounding you—if you can give me one good reason why you're procrastinating. You don't procrastinate, you're _Hermione bloody Granger!"_

"I know who I am, thank you very much!" she all but shouted, her tone shrill with an angry frustration.

"Then start acting like it!" His tone escaladed in response to hers.

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Why are you yelling?"

"_You're _yelling at _me!"_

They were full on shouting now.

"Just…" Draco sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice level and calm. "I'm not telling you what to do, okay? I'm just trying to help you. What… Why are you struggling with this?"

Hermione swallowed thickly. "I've never been all that good with maintaining friendships, okay? Books and academics are my specialty. Sometimes the complexities of human interaction escape me."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned. "Are you trying to tell me you're socially awkward or something? Because I disagree."

"No, I mean…" she made a frustrated sound. "What I'm trying to say is that there's no manual for this, okay? I don't know exactly how to go about it. I am completely overwhelmed by the fact that _I don't know_ how to proceed. Any time I need to accomplish something, I can turn to a book, or a set of instructions—something, anything. There is _no_ easy solution for this problem. _I_ did this. _I _made a mistake. I dropped out of contact with my friends, and it was selfish. This mistake is on _me._ I'm not used to making mistakes, I'm not used to screwing up! But I _did_ screw up, and there is no basic or easy solution. Any time I try to sit down and write Harry a letter, all I can think about is how angry they're all going to be at me. What if they don't want anything to do with me after this? What if they can't forgive me? What if I ruined everything?"

Her breathing was rapid and her eyes were starting to burn with salty tears. Her fidgeting had become more frantic as her explanation continued, and Draco was now watching her with an expression of extreme concern.

"Hey, hey… come on, calm down. I get it, I do," he said as he pulled her in close. "But the fact remains that they _do_ love you, Granger. I can't imagine Potter or the Weasleys being _too_ terribly upset with you, and if they are, it won't be for very long."

She nodded, taking a handful of his shirt in her grip and she rested her head on his chest. "Can we just…can we not talk about this anymore, please? I'll… This is _my_ problem, and _I'm _the one who needs to fix it. I will, I just… I will, okay?"

He brushed a lock of hair out of her face and behind her ear. "Yeah. Yeah, alright. Sorry, I'll stay out of it."

"Thank you."

"I just want to help."

"I know," she told him softly. "I know you mean well. Just…"

"I get it. Enough, huh?" He laughed. "I'll drop it."

She nodded, and they sat there in silence for a few long moments.

"Hey," Draco began, "I've been meaning to ask you about this coming weekend."

She looked up at him, her head still resting on his chest. "What about it?"

"I have to go to Paris on Saturday for a dinner with a client and his wife. I wanted to see if maybe you could get the day off and come with me."

Hermione paused for a moment, thinking about it. "I _might_ be able to get the weekend off. I'll ask Marion tomorrow."

He sat up quite suddenly. "Really?"

She laughed to herself. "I would like to go to Paris with you, I just need a few days' notice to request it off."

He grinned, a big dopey smile. "Well let me know. I would love to take you to a few places in Paris. We can spend all weekend there if you can get it off."

"I'll ask Marion and see what she says," Hermione promised.

Malfoy leaned forward and kissed her deeply. "I'm already looking forward to it."

**Worry not. Harry will come along soon!**


	27. Paris

**Please note: I've gotten some frustrated messages and reviews that I am dragging my feet on getting to the climax of this story and drawing things out. Look, I get your frustration, I do. And I'm ****_just_**** as eager to get to the exciting parts as ya'll, but the most important goal for me in this story is to build a believable relationship between Hermione and Draco. I can't just jump from one event to the next. I need to show that they're growing closer, they're falling in love, they're getting to know each other. I'm not going to rush it. If you're bored and you want to just skip to the action part, then don't read this chapter. This chapter is all about Draco and Hermione. The conflict and action with Harry will begin in the next chapter.**

**I sat down and wrote this with a very detailed storyline already planned out-I have had specific scenes and events in mind from the start. I know there are a lot of chapters and if reading them is tedious, then don't read them! It is important to me that I take my time with this. It doesn't seem plausible to me for the conflict between Hermione's friends and her life with Draco to take place too soon after she started seeing him. Why would she deliberate choosing Draco over her friends' approval (the inevitable conflict of all Dramione fics) if they had only been seeing each other for two weeks when the conflict arose? No. These things take time. There needs to be a solid foundation. I wanted there to be a sense of impending conflict-a sense that things will get rough up ahead, but I don't mean to drag it out, I really don't.**

**So that is my logic for this process. If you don't like it, then you don't have to read it. I appreciate ya'll's feedback, and I like to hear your opinions and suggestions-I want constructive criticism and suggestions to help my writing improve, I do. But please remember that this is ****_my_**** story. I am writing it because I want to. Of course I hope that this story will bring you guys enjoyment, but I am not writing it solely for the approval of others. I will do as I please.**

"_This_ is the hotel where we're staying?" Hermione was currently gaping up at what was, without a doubt, the most fancy, lavish, and _expensive_ looking hotel she had ever seen with her own two eyes.

Marion had quickly agreed on Wednesday morning to give Hermione the weekend off of work.

_"__Of course, Joan! Have fun with your young man. We will be fine here without you for a weekend. You enjoy yourself!"_

So early Saturday morning, they had packed a suitcase and gotten into Draco's car.

"We should drive to Paris instead of fly," Draco suggested on Thursday. "Then we can sight-see. It's only takes about four hours to get there. How would you feel about that?"

Hermione had nodded. "That sounds good to me."

"Perfect," he had concluded, clapping his hands together once. "A street-trip it is, then."

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Street-trip?" she repeated.

"Yes. That's what the Muggles call it when you take a holiday in a vehicle. You go on a street-trip."

Hermione bit her lip to refrain from openly laughing.

"So," Draco continued, "we'll take a street-trip to Paris. There are all kinds of things I have planned for us to do once we get there. You'll love it."

She cleared her throat and put her hand on his arm. "Draco, I think the phrase you're looking for is _road trip, _not street-trip."

"Ah," Draco acknowledged with a nod, refusing to meet her eyes. "Right. I knew that. Road trip. Yes. I was testing you, you know."

Hermione sniggered. "I'm sure."

They were now in the very heart of Paris, and the building before her towered over every other building for miles around. There was a large driveway up to the front door—a large, revolving door that glinted and shined under the warm and bright lights overhead. A broad red canopy covered the entire front of the hotel. Potted rose bushes sat along the wide front windows, little fairy lights glinting through their leaves, and soft music played overhead. There were attendants donning impeccable red uniforms at the front entrance who politely greeted every customer and took their luggage. There was valet parking as well, and they rushed to open the car doors for every vehicle that pulled up.

"This is a…very…large…hotel," she commented.

Draco dropped his car keys into the open hand of the valet attendant, giving the man a nod and a mumble of thanks in French before stepping over the curb to join her. "Very observant, Granger."

She ripped her eyes from the magnificent building to glare at him.

He smirked. "And the glaring starts already. I knew it was only a matter of time."

She elbowed him lightly. "Stop it. We're here to enjoy ourselves! Not to bicker and tease."

"We don't _bicker._ We're merely two argumentative, stubborn people, who like to challenge one another in conversation. Besides, you like it when I tease you," he said knowingly. "The day you stop enjoying it is the day I'll stop doing it, and that's a promise. All you have to do is say the word." He raised one eyebrow expectantly.

She couldn't help but smile at him—he was right, as much as she was loathe to admit it. She enjoyed their dynamic.

"That's what I thought," he muttered proudly.

She scoffed at his prideful demeanor. "Let's go," she said, "unless you want to stand outside all day and brag to anyone who will listen that you're always right."

He offered her his arm and she accepted it. "But I _am_ always right!"

"Careful, Draco—that sounded dangerously like whining."

He assumed an expression of extreme distaste. "Malfoys _never_ whine."

Hermione let out a tinkling laugh as she shook her head. _"You are so absurd," _she mumbled to herself.

"What was that, Granger?" he asked. "I'll have you know, my pride is feeling a bit wounded."

Her eyes widened as she remembered how he had thrown her over his shoulder at the bar that night a few weeks ago. She tightened her grip on his arm. _"Don't you dare make a scene here," _she said in a stern, hushed tone.

Draco just grinned at her. "No promises."

She found herself returning his smile as they pushed their way through the revolving door and entered the hotel.

As they approached the front desk, Hermione felt excitement bubble through her as she looked around the vast lobby area. The whole place practically sparkled. Draco greeted the woman at the front desk, informing her of their reservation in French. When she finally handed him their key cards, he turned back to Hermione.

"Ready to see our room?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Rolling her eyes, she nodded. They set out for the elevators.

Later that evening, Draco and Hermione were back in their hotel room, getting ready for dinner. Hermione was changing in the bathroom, thinking about their day with a content little smile on her face.

Their day had been full of activities. They had started off with an early lunch before going straight to the Musée d'Orsay. Hermione marveled at the works of Van Gogh, Degas, and Monet.

"It doesn't matter how many times I come here," she said happily as they left. "I still enjoy myself each time."

After lunch they bundled up to combat the cold weather of early March, and—after some serious convincing on Hermione's part—Draco agreed to go ice skating.

"I can't believe people do this for fun," he grumbled as he gripped onto the sides of the rink for dear life. He slowly wobbled onto the ice, letting go of the barriers and taking baby steps in his skates. "This is madness!" he exclaimed.

Hermione skated around him in circles, her hair flowing behind her. "It takes some getting used to," she told him with an amused smile. "You'll get the hang of it. Come on, give me your hand."

He eyed her warily before accepting her hand, still muttering curse words under his breath.

"Just take longer strides," she instructed. "It's easier to maintain your balance that way."

"There is no easy way to maintain your balance on _ice!"_ he argued. "This is a silly and pointless sport. The _least _they could do is put a cushioning charm on the ice, so you don't break something when you fall."

"This is a Muggle ice rink! No charms allowed," she reminded him with a smile.

"Why Muggles would want to slide across hard ice on a pair of blades when they can't do _cushioning_ charms is beyond me."

Hermione raised one eyebrow. "Oh dear," she mocked. "It sounds to me like we've found something Draco Malfoy _can't _do."

He scoffed haughtily. "Bollocks! I can do anything." He wobbled dangerously and his grip on Hermione's hand tightened as he struggled to keep from falling. Once he was firmly upright once more, he swallowed. "Almost," he amended as he attempted to take longer strides as Hermione had instructed. "I can do _almost _anything. I'm sure I'll get the hang of this in no time," he insisted as they began to skate across the rink. Other skaters whizzed by them and Draco glared at them as if their ability to skate was offending him in some personal way. "I just need to…need to figure out…"

They were moving steadily across the ice now, and Draco flashed her a very pleased smile.

"See, Granger? I think I've got it down. This isn't so hard. I told you, I just needed to—"

His sentence was cut off and he gave a great and pathetic yelp as he suddenly lost his balance completely, his feet going up and the rest of his body falling backwards. He still had Hermione by the hand, and ended up tugging her down with him.

_"__Ouch,"_ Draco gasped from where he had landed, on his back, flat on the ice.

Hermione had landed on her knees, and looked over at Draco, her breath coming out in hearty laughs.

He glanced at her through squinted eyes and a pained expression. "I think I've broken several bones, Granger."

She began to laugh harder. "Are you okay?" she asked between laughs.

"No," he said, closing his eyes and resting his head on the cold ice. "I might be dying."

She crawled over to him, nearing hysterics now. "Don't be so dramatic," she said with a shake of her head.

He opened his eyes at that, looking at her in disbelief. "I am _seriously_ injured, Granger! Don't tell me not to be dramatic. I'll be as dramatic as I want! I think I've broken my back! I might never walk again."

Hermione, still laughing, gave an incredibly loud snort. She covered her mouth in horror, unable to stop the laughter pouring out of her mouth.

Draco eyed her in surprise from where he lay on the ice. "Did you just snort?"

Hermione shook her head firmly.

"You did! I heard you myself!" He smiled and lifted his head up to look at her. "That was quite adorable. Unladylike, but adorable. OW!" he cried as she smacked him. "What? It's true! I'm not saying I mind! I like it when you snort. OW! Stop_ hitting me!_ Can't you see I'm injured? Where is your sense of mercy?"

Hermione watched him with a smile. "You're hurt, are you?"

Draco put his head back once more. "Quite hurt," he said somberly, closing his eyes.

"You'll have to get lots of bed rest tonight then."

Draco opened one eye. "Tons," he agreed. "In fact, I think we'll need to spend the rest of the weekend in bed. I need plenty of_ bed rest._"

"Well if that's the case, I'll make sure to sleep on the couch in the parlor—all the way on the other side of our suite. I wouldn't want to hinder your healing process. No sex, not even cuddling. Just you all by yourself in the bed."

Draco's other eye opened and he took on an expression of horror. "You know what? On second thought, I think I'll be fine," he decided. "Eventually, I'm sure. Just…just give me a moment." He grunted as he moved to sit up, resting on his elbows. "Are you okay? I'm sorry I pulled you down with me."

She leaned forward and kissed his lips. "I'm fine, thank you for asking. My knees ache a little bit, but I'll recover."

"I'll be sure to kiss them better later tonight," he promised with a rakish grin.

"Good," she said. "Come on, let's get you up. We'll take a break and grab some hot chocolate at that stand over there."

After they finished their drinks, Hermione couldn't convince Draco to give ice skating another try, so instead they had moved on to the next portion of their plans.

"_Where_ is it that you're wanting to go again?" Draco asked as they got in a taxi.

"It's a museum."

"We just went to a museum. What kind of museum are we going to now?"

"That's the surprise. Now be a good little boy and close your eyes."

"Close my eyes? Why?!"

"Because I don't want you to spoil the surprise!" she said, sounding slightly aggravated.

"I fail to see the necessity of closing my eyes. I like to view my surroundings. Can't we just—ouch! Okay, okay! Alright. I'll close by bloody eyes." He closed them with a huff, sitting back in the seat and pouting.

Twenty minutes later, he was still griping when Hermione led him up the gravel pathway and into the museum. She paid for their tickets and then led him through the hallways, into a rather large exhibit.

Arriving at the display she was searching for, she finally turned to Draco. "If you're quite finished whining," she began.

Draco folded his arms and interrupted her with a scoff. "_Malfoys—"_

"I know, I know! _Malfoys never whine,_" she said in a gruff imitation of him.

His eyes were still closed and he looked quite a sight as he raised one eyebrow, managing to look sarcastic and displeased. "First of all, that is not how I sound…_at all._ Second of all—"

Hermione cut him off with a kiss—one he eagerly returned. When she finally pulled back a few seconds later, he was smiling.

"You can open your eyes now," she told him.

He did, and watched the hallway full of tourists who bustled around them. "What is the big surprise?"

She smiled. "Turn around."

Frowning, he obliged, and then his jaw dropped.

Before them was a vast room, and on display were some of the largest set of bones he had ever seen. "These are… Is that a _dinosaur_? Like the ones you were telling me about?" he asked in awe.

Hermione beamed, pleased by his shock. "It is." She took him by the hand and led him through the display.

"Merlin, these are huge! They look just like dragons!"

An older woman was passing by and looked at Draco oddly.

"Shh!" Hermione giggled. "I told you, they're closely related."

"I've never seen a dragon up close before—only at the Tri-Wizard Tournament. _Merlin,_ the participants must have been scared shitless when they had to face one up close. I can't even imagine." He stopped before a Tyrannosaurus Rex display. It loomed menacingly above them, and he looked up at it with eyes the size of saucers. Suddenly he turned to Hermione. "And to think you _rode_ a dragon out of Gringott's," he said, shaking his head. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

She heaved a great sigh. "Let's not talk about that. It was a terrible day. I don't think back on those times fondly."

He nodded. "Me neither." He held out his hand for her to take and she accepted it with a small smile. He leaned down to kiss her before they set off to view the rest of the displays.

Now, as Hermione slid into a black dress she had purchased for this dinner, her stomach rolled as she thought nervously of the important dinner ahead.

"Draco?" she called as she stepped into black high heels. How she was going to successfully wear these all night, she had no idea.

A few moments later, he entered into the massive bathroom, wearing a tailored charcoal suit. As he saw Hermione, his eyes raked down her figure. "You look…" He blinked a few times. "You're beautiful."

She blushed fiercely. "Thank you. You're very handsome yourself," she told him shyly. "Can you… Can you zip me up?" She turned around, baring her back and her unzipped dress.

Draco approached her slowly, almost sauntering over to her. His hands came to rest on her hips and he kissed the back of her neck. She shivered as his fingers brushed across her lower back and he reached for the zipper.

She closed her eyes and sank into him, enjoying his light touches and the feeling of his lips across her shoulders. She wasn't even aware when he had already finished zipping up her dress—she had no idea how long she was standing like that.

"I got you something," he breathed on her shoulder.

Shivers ran down her spine once more. "What?" she asked breathily, trying to shake the fog that was now occupying her mind. She heard a soft _click_ and opened her eyes. He was holding open a rather large jewelry box in front of her. In it, sat a sparkling sapphire necklace and matching earrings. A teardrop shaped sapphire, accented with a small diamond, hung on a delicate gold chain. The earrings were small sapphire studs. They were simple, but beautiful.

She blinked, feeling rather shocked at what she was seeing.

"I figured you could wear them tonight," Draco said. "If you wanted to," he added.

"You… these are for me?" she asked, looking up at him in the mirror before her. His reflection smiled and he nodded.

He set the box in her hands, taking out the necklace and placing it gently around her neck.

She moved away from him. "Draco, those look…very expensive," she said, looking down at the box in her hand, where the sapphire earrings caught on the bathroom lights, glinting brightly. "I…I couldn't."

He frowned. "You don't like them?"

Her eyes widened. "No, that's not… They're lovely. Beautiful. Thank you, I just…"

"Then wear them," he insisted, moving to put the necklace back on her. "I picked the smaller ones for you. You don't wear much jewelry, so I figured you have a minimalist kind of preference."

She blinked again, surprised that he would think of such a thing. He was right—she didn't wear jewelry often, and when she did, it was usually simple, and almost always jewelry that was important to her. Her mother's small pearl earrings, the silver bracelet her father gave her for Christmas when she was fifteen, the ring Ginny had given her a few years ago that was charmed to turn a different color when it was supposed to rain that day ("so you can prepare for frizzy hair," she'd told her with a good-natured smile)—that sort of thing. And she definitely preferred her jewelry small and simple.

She turned around to look up at Draco. "Thank you," she whispered.

He shook his head. "You don't have to thank me. It's not a big deal," he insisted with a shrug.

She looked at the blue jewel that now sat around her neck. "I'm surprised it's not green," she laughed.

He rolled his eyes. "I figured an emerald wasn't your thing. And I couldn't swallow my Slytherin pride enough to purchase a Ruby. Too Gryffindor."

"Then why a Sapphire?" she asked curiously.

"It's your birthstone, isn't it?"

She reeled at that. "You know when my birthday is?"

He snorted. "Of course I do. I'm not obtuse. And anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "a long time ago it was believed that sapphires served as protection from those who intended to harm. Not that you need protection," he added quickly. "I know for a fact you pack quite the punch."

She laughed at that, feeling very moved at his gesture. She smiled, reaching forward to pull him to her by his lapels. She kissed him deeply and a wonderful and giddy happiness settle over her.

The happy little feeling stayed there all evening, and it seemed as if she was walking on clouds. It wasn't until much later that night—after the business dinner, as they lay in bed—when she rested her head on his bare chest and listened to his breathing slow as he transitioned into a deep sleep, that she was hit with the realization.

She was falling in love with Draco Malfoy.


	28. Unwelcome Visitors

On Sunday evening, after a lot of whining—or _not _whining, depending on who you asked—Draco convinced Hermione to allow them to stay one extra night in Paris. She called Marion and asked if she could come in to work a few hours later than normal, to which Marion cheerfully agreed.

They made good use of their last night there—and good use of their hotel suite…the _whole_ hotel suite. When Draco and Hermione finally dropped onto the large plushy bed next to one another, sweating and breathing rapidly, they exchanged smiles.

"I think we might need a shower," Draco told her.

"We already took a shower, remember? That's where this all started!"

Draco grinned mischievously. "Well in that case, we _definitely_ need a shower."

Hermione laughed, loving how easy this was with him.

The next morning, they left Paris at almost the morning's first light and Draco took her straight to work.

"You really mean it?" Hermione asked him as they approached the outskirts of Claremont.

"Of course I mean it! You did just _fine_ at the dinner on Saturday. I wouldn't lie to you," he said, glancing at her with a smile before turning back to the road before him.

"What about the Asparagus incident?" she asked dubiously.

Draco had to fight to refrain from smiling. "Granger, no one noticed your mishap with the vegetables except for you…and me, of course."

The Asparagus incident in reference had been, of course, far more hilarious than he was letting on. Hermione had been a nervous wreck all evening. They were dining in one of the nicest restaurants in all of Paris, and Hermione was struggling to keep up with proper etiquette. For example: at one point, she was trying to cut up a spear of asparagus.

_"I'm very pleased with your quarterly revenue, I must admit," _his large bellied client had commented.

Draco nodded, taking a sip of wine. It was in that moment of his client's ramblings that he decided to glance over at Hermione. She was trying to cut up her asparagus when she attempted to use her fork to stab the spear with far too much force, and suddenly the piece of asparagus in question flew off the table at an impressive speed. Draco followed it with his eyes to see it land right into the lady at the next table's hair.

Draco choked on his wine.

"_Pardon me,_" he said in French as his business associate and his wife both stared at him worriedly while he coughed. _"It went down the wrong pipe,"_ he lied, covering his mouth with his cloth napkin to hide the smile that threatened to take over his face.

He could see Hermione's cheeks blushing a bright red out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes were wide and she sat up rim-rod straight, trying to appear inconspicuous.

_"Are you quite alright?"_ the wife asked him worriedly.

Draco nodded, glancing over at the asparagus sitting in the old lady's hair. He held the napkin at his mouth until he was able to manage a straight face. _"Quite, thank you. How about you, my love?" _he asked, turning to Hermione. _"How is the asparagus?"_

Hermione nodded, refusing to look at him and appearing to be extremely uncomfortable. _"Delicious,"_ she replied.

Draco shook his head now as he pictured it all in his head again.

"It flew into the lady's hair!" Hermione groaned.

He wasn't able to contain his laughter. "That was the best thing I've ever seen. Good aim, Granger."

"I was a disaster!" Hermione moaned.

Draco shook his head. "I don't think you were a disaster. The dinner went very smoothly—as I told you thirty times before. You did wonderfully."

"And then I tripped at the front door," she groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Bloody high heels are dangerous!"

"Yes, but that lovely waiter caught you! Very graceful gent, that one," Draco commented. "He didn't even drop that bottle of wine he was carrying."

"Everyone stared at me!"

"They were staring because you were the most beautiful woman there," he insisted.

"And then I spilled the wife's water glass."

"But it only spilled on the table, she didn't even get wet. So it was _fine."_

Hermione said nothing, covering her face and leaning against the door.

"Granger, I'm serious. You were a _lovely_ date to that dinner. You did wonderfully, and you handled it with grace."

She peeked at him skeptically through her fingers.

"You're perfect, you know that?" He grinned at her before turning back to the road.

Hermione smiled to herself as she sank into her seat.

They pulled up the _The Drowsy Poet_ and Hermione stepped out of the car.

"Just leave your bag in my car," Draco told her. "I'm going to see you again tonight anyway."

Hermione grinned. "You just spent a whole weekend with me. Aren't you sick of me yet?"

He leaned down and kissed her. "I could never get sick of you," he mumbled against her lips. "Let's do dinner at my place."

"Oh, you're going to cook some of your famous French cuisine again?"

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Restaurant de Draco?"

"I hear it's very busy there, I'll have to call ahead and see if I can make a reservation," she teased.

He chuckled, shaking his head at her witty remarks. "I'll pick you up here at six," he told her.

She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him. "I'll see you then."

Draco drove home with a smile on his face the entire time. He even hummed along to the song playing on the radio, ignoring his father's voice in his head—_Malfoys do not hum—_and he started going over dinner plans in his head. Maybe he _could_ actually cook this time. Maybe he would go next door and ask that sweet old lady who was always hounding him about not eating enough for help to…

Draco went cold as he pulled up to the driveway. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he looked up to his house and saw that the front door was ajar.

He certainly hadn't left the door open—or unlocked, for that matter—when he left on Saturday morning.

That meant someone had broken into his house.

His foot slammed down on the break immediately. He turned off his car, wondering if there was a chance his car hadn't made too much noise.

_Alright, Draco,_ he thought as he gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands.

_Scenerio one: You were robbed. Some harmless, foolish Muggle just broke into your house and robbed you. Then they left. That's fine._

_Scenerio two: Theodore Nott's remaining family has sent someone to get rid of you altogether. You're fucked._

_Scenerio three: One of Father's enemies or pissed off business associates has tracked you down. You're fucked if that's the case, too._

_Scenerio four: Maybe the ministry has sent someone to check on you. _

_But why wouldn't they owl me first to notify me of their visit? The ministry probably wouldn't just barge in unannounced like this._

_I'm fucked._

Draco weighed out his options before finally deciding he couldn't involve the Muggle police, in case it was a rogue death eater. He couldn't call Hermione—he didn't want to put her in danger. He didn't want to just _leave,_ although that would probably be the wise thing to do. But how could he leave his home like this? To someone who just waltzed in and thought they could disrespect him this way?

He reached into the glove compartment of his car, moved a flap that hid a secret compartment space, and pulled out the knife he kept for emergencies. It was a small compact knife, and if he was going to be honest, he didn't know _exactly _what he would do with it, but it was better than walking into a fight completely unarmed. He slipped it into the pocket of his suit jacket.

He restarted his car and pulled up the rest of the driveway. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. Gathering all the courage he could manage, he adjusted his jacket and cracked his neck before marching confidently inside.

When he got inside, he was greeted by chaos. There were two wizards moving through his living room, snooping around. Drawers were open, the couch cushions were on the floor, there were random objects strewn across the room—the place was a mess.

He looked up at them. "What the bloody hell is going on in here?"

"Mr. Malfoy, there was unregistered use of magic in this house last week. We are here to do a search," a tall bearded wizard informed him gruffly.

"You're with the Ministry?" he asked, relief pouring over him like a cool spring shower.

The tall bearded one nodded. "Come have a seat, Mr. Malfoy."

The relief faded and indignation burned through him. "I'd rather stand, thank you. I don't understand what makes you think it's alright for you to _break_ into my house like this—unannounced, tearing apart my home like…like…barbarian maniacs!"

A third wizard entered the living room from the hallway. "Sit down, Malfoy, or I'll force you to sit down myself," he snapped.

Draco turned to view the man who had addressed him and seethed. "McCoy," he greeted snidely. "Why am I not surprised that you're here?"

McCoy was a short, ruddy faced, angry man with mousey brown hair and a square jaw. He had been one of Draco's auror handlers throughout his case—since the Battle of Hogwarts, in fact. He was known for his less than professional methods and his hatred for dark wizards. He had a record of losing his temper and exercising… exemplary discipline with the criminals in his charge. He had always treated Draco like dirt, and Draco hated him.

"_I said…_sit down," he repeated, through gritted teeth as he approached Draco.

Draco clicked his tongue. "Still working on those anger issues, are we, McCoy?"

McCoy's jaw went taut and he gave a particularly menacing smile before lunging forward and punching Malfoy right in the face.

Draco stumbled backwards, reaching up to feel blood smearing across his mouth from his now split lip. He nodded at McCoy. "Thanks McCoy, I was hoping you'd leave me something to remember you by."

McCoy grabbed him by the arm and threw him onto the couch.

"I've told you before, boy, that mouth is going to get you in nothing but trouble."

"I bet you say that to all the boys," Draco said dryly.

McCoy leered at him menacingly, taking a step forward before the bearded wizard called out to him.

"McCoy, keep yourself under control. We're here for a reason. Did you find anything in the bedroom?"

The angry shorter wizard's jaw clenched. "All clear in there," he answered begrudgingly.

His coworker nodded before turning to Draco. "Malfoy, are you illegally practicing magic?"

Draco sneered at him. "How could I? My magic is bound."

"Have you tampered with the binding in any way?"

"_No,_" he hissed. "I have done _nothing_ wrong. I haven't violated a single rule during this entire bloody sentence. I don't even understand why you're here."

The bearded man sighed. "On the morning of Saturday, February twenty eighth, there was unregistered magic practiced here—the French Ministry was notified of it, and they informed us."

"That was a whole week ago! I…" Realization hit him like a freight train. Draco seethed. "You placed a _trace_ on my home?"

The auror nodded. "We did, as is protocol for criminals who live abroad."

His fists clenched at that. He hated when they called him that. "I'm not a criminal," he spat.

"Oh but you are, Malfoy," McCoy said snidely. "Or have you forgotten all those people you helped Nott murder?"

"I had _nothing_ to do with that, and you know it!" he shouted.

"Alright then, let's say you didn't. I don't believe you, but let's say for hypothetical reasons, you didn't. You're still a criminal, Malfoy. You're still_ scum._ You performed countless forbidden curses at Voldemort's command. If I remember correctly, you have a special talent for the _Imperio _curse." He glanced around the room thoughtfully. "What was it they said? Ah yes, flawlessly practiced curses."

Draco felt himself paling as the memories of performing _Imperios_ on various Ministry members during the war rushed back to him. He remembered the fear in Madame Rosmerta's eyes as he cornered her in Hogsmeade.

_"Please," she begged hysterically as tears poured down her face. "Please, Mr. Malfoy, I… Please don't, I won't tell anyone, just please let me go…"_

_"Shut up!" he commanded hoarsely. He had his orders. He didn't have a choice. His hand was shaking as he raised his wand. "Imperio!" He watched as her expression cleared, her eyes glazing over. Her mouth went slack and she remained motionless._

"Yes, that's right," McCoy said. "It's all coming back to you now, is it?"

Draco swallowed thickly, looking down at his hands in his lap. "Fuck you, McCoy," he snapped.

"_What did you just say to me?!"_ he jumped forward, but this time his coworker grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back.

"Control yourself, McCoy! I'll not tell you again!" he reprimanded.

McCoy spat on the carpet before turning towards the kitchen. There was a loud crash of things being thrown about.

"Look," Draco said, turning to the auror. "I haven't been practicing magic, okay? I don't see what the problem is. My mother performs magic here all the time, and not once has the Ministry come knocking at my door."

The auror nodded. "Narcissa Malfoy is registered with both the British Ministry and the French Ministry. We know for a fact that she hasn't been here in well over two months. This was _unregistered magic,_ Mr. Malfoy. Unregistered magic is illegal in the first place, and to be performed at your house? Do you want to explain to me what exactly is going on?"

It suddenly dawned on him—Granger. They had picked up Granger's magic when she charmed the walls of his study. He clenched his teeth. What was he supposed to say now? _By the way, a missing girl was here. You all think she's dead, but she's really alive. I think she might be my girlfriend._

"I had a friend come change the color of my study walls. You can go look for yourself." He winced at the sound of something shattering from the kitchen. "That better not be the dish my mother gave me, McCoy!" he shouted.

"A friend?" the auror before him asked. "What kind of friends are you making, Malfoy?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know their name. I met them in town the other day."

The auror narrowed his eyes and frowned. "You don't know their name?"

Draco began to inspect his nails, as if he didn't have a care in the world. "As far as I'm aware, I haven't done anything illegal. I'm not practicing magic—you can run a diagnostic test on me to see that I'm telling the truth. I have no magic at all. I have a charmed ring from my mother, and that's the only magical item I have in my possession. If I was hiding magical contraband, you would have found it by now," he drawled, eyeing the destroyed room before him. "It appears you have searched quite thoroughly. So unless you're going to arrest me, I suggest you _get out of my house._"

The auror eyed him thoughtfully for a moment before stepping back. "Harrison," he barked sharply.

The third auror—a dark haired fellow with an expressionless face who had said nothing before now—stepped forward with his wand. He ran it over Draco's body before holding his hand out. "The ring," he ordered.

"This is my family ring," Draco protested.

"Give him the ring," came McCoy's voice from the doorway. "Give him the ring, or I'll take it by force."

Clenching his teeth as fury rolled through him, he removed the ring from his hand and held it out to the quiet, expressionless auror. As the auror was about to reach for it, Draco pulled his hand away.

"If you lose this," he said through gritted teeth. "I will hold you _personally accountable._ Do you understand?"

The auror nodded begrudgingly and snatched the ring from him. Disappointment settled through Draco at the knowledge that he was losing the ring Hermione had charmed for him.

The bearded auror nodded and began heading for the door, where he stood waiting with the quiet one close behind him.

McCoy sauntered forward. "You may have preyed on Potter's bleeding heart to get you out of trouble over the last few years, but I'm not as forgiving as he."

"McCoy!" the bearded auror snapped.

"One moment!" McCoy yelled back before turning to eye Draco again. "I know what you are—I've seen first hand the kind of horrors you had a hand in during the war, and I won't forget. Do you hear me?"

Draco sighed. "McCoy, I had nothing to do with your wife's death during the war."

Suddenly he was snatched up and being thrown across the living room, where he landed on his glass coffee table. It collapsed beneath him and fell to the floor. Draco groaned breathlessly, rolling over in a mess of broken wood and glass.

He felt the hot sharp pain of something in his side, and he immediately went still. Why had he thought it would be a good idea to stick a knife in his pocket?

"McCoy!" the head auror barked. "I said enough! Let's go!"

McCoy stood over Draco, shaking with anger. "Don't speak of her," he growled. "I mean it, Malfoy. You're scum. And when you mess up and the truth comes out, I'll be here to collect you. You'll meet the same end as your father. Mark my words."

"McCoy, you have about five seconds before I suspend you without pay!"

"Alright!" he shouted. "I'm coming."

And then they were gone, leaving Draco alone in his trashed house, bleeding onto his carpet.

**Sorry for the cliffhanger! There's too much for me to post all at once, and I need to go run some very important errands. I promise I will post two entire chapters tonight. And don't worry, Draco isn't going to die. There is no character death in this story. Happy endings only!**


	29. Like a Nightmare

**I'll post the next chapter tomorrow-I'm too exhausted to edit any more tonight and I want to make sure I do a good job before I post! Here we go:**

Hermione was walking on clouds all day. She was extra cheerful with the customers, she wore a smile all day long, and she kept absently fingering Draco's sapphire necklace, which she still hadn't taken off. Florence eyed her knowingly throughout the day and Hermione knew that the first moment of downtime they had, Florence would pounce.

It was nearing closing time and Hermione was counting the cash in the register when Florence finally caught her. She moved in for the questioning, and Hermione knew she was stuck now as Florence informed her that she was humming to herself.

"Oh," she replied, pausing in her counting. "I didn't notice. Sorry."

"Don't apologize! Humming to yourself, smiling, staring off in space… You don't have to be sorry for being in love," Florence said with a laugh.

Hermione snorted. "I never said I was in love."

Florence made a disbelieving humming noise as she reached up to pull her dark hair into a ponytail. "You don't need to say it, it's written all over your face."

Hermione ducked her head shyly, her dark locks falling over her face as she placed the counted money into a bag and zipped it.

"It hasn't escaped my notice that you're wearing a very nice set of new jewelry, either. Courtesy of your new boyfriend, I'm assuming?"

Hermione's cheeks began to warm and she subconsciously reached up to place her hand over the small glinting sapphire that hung around her neck. "He's not… He isn't my boyfriend."

Florence raised her eyebrows. "And why not?"

Hermione shrugged, a small smile curving up over her face. "Maybe he is, I don't actually know," she admitted.

"You spend virtually all your time together, he takes you on vacation with him, buys you jewelry…I think it's safe to assume that he _is_ your boyfriend. But anyway, enough about labels and more about this weekend!"

"What about it?" she asked bemusedly.

Florence gave her an exasperated look. "Oh come on! Tell me all about it! What did you do in Paris?"

Hermione found herself smiling as she leaned back against the counter. "Alright, alright. So we checked into the hotel, and then—"

"Was it nice?"

"Yes," she answered dreamily. "Yes, it was _so_ nice," she said with a smile. "We went to lunch at this tiny café down the road, and it was delicious! All the food there was delicious, Florence, it was amazing. We went to _la_ _Musée d'Orsay, _and the Museum of Natural History, we went ice skating—"

"Ice skating!" Florence exclaimed, her eyes taking a faraway look. "I bet Draco was a great ice skater, wasn't he?"

Hermione laughed long and hard at the memory of him falling down. She shook her head. "No, he was quite horrid at it!"

Florence looked surprised. "What?"

"He was a terrible skater! He fell down in the first minute, pulling me down with him."

She continued telling Florence about their weekend, surprised to find that she was very happy to share her stories with her. Florence laughed heartily when she told her about the asparagus at dinner.

"But the client signed with Draco that evening, so it must have been alright after all. Just…awkward for me. On Sunday we went to a wine tasting, and we walked around the Marais until it got too cold to be outside. Then we went back to the suite and ordered room service." She looked away at the last part, blushing as she recalled that the room service had consisted mostly of chocolate covered strawberries, and the chocolate covered strawberries had led to…other things.

Florence watched Hermione fondly. "It sounds like you had a very fun time," she told her. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

By the time she finished summarizing her weekend, Marion was ready to lock up.

_"Any plans for tonight?"_ Marion asked as she led them to the front door. _"Dinner for the lovebirds maybe?"_

Hermione grinned. "We _are_ having dinner, actually. Draco is determined to cook for some reason. I'm not convinced that he actually possesses the capability, to be honest."

She stepped outside and scanned the streets for Draco's car—it wasn't there. _Hmm…he must be running late,_ she thought as she tightened her coat around her. She turned back to Marion and Florence, who had followed her out the door. "Last weekend he bought take out from _Brasserie la Regence_ and tried to pass it off as his own cooking."

Florence laughed and Marion shook her head as she locked the door. _"Men," _she said with a sigh. _"Why they think they can get away with things like that, I will never understand."_

They stood outside the shop for a moment, laughing together.

_"Well ladies, I will see you tomorrow,"_ Marion told them. _"This old woman is ready for her beauty sleep."_

_"Goodnight, Grandmere,"_ Florence said, kissing her cheek.

"Goodnight!" Hermione called after the woman as she began to make her way around the corner to her apartment just down the street.

Florence turned to Hermione expectantly. "So is he late?"

Hermione tore her eyes away from the street where she was watching for Draco's car. "What?"

"Your eyes are wandering, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Draco is supposed to be here, and he's not."

Hermione sighed, glancing at the watch she wore on her left wrist. "Yes, it appears he is running late."

Florence shrugged. "I'll wait with you," she decided.

Hermione's eyes widened. "You don't have to do that," she insisted.

"_Non,"_ Florence dismissed her. "That is what friends are for." She leaned back against the brick wall of the shop and put her hands in her coat pockets for warmth.

Hermione smiled happily and settled next to her, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck. "So what's new with you?" she asked. "How is your sister's new baby doing?"

Florence's face immediately lit up. "Oh, she is such a precious little baby, Joan! She is so tiny, so perfect…"

Florence continued to tell update her on how her family was doing, and after they finished that conversation, they moved on to other subjects. Soon over twenty minutes had passed and the cold night air was beginning to nip at them through their warm winter coats. As Florence continued speaking, Hermione watched the cars and buses pass by in the streets and she grew more and more agitated.

Where was Draco? Why was he so late? She glanced at her watch again. The sun was sinking behind the horizon—only its fading pink light could be seen in the sky now. Soon it would be dark.

"How much later do you want to wait?" Florence asked, kicking a pebble onto the street.

Hermione sighed. "Actually, I think I'm going to go home and call him. Maybe he's stuck in some kind of late business meeting or he's on a call or something."

Florence bumped Hermione with her shoulder. "Hey, I'm sure he has a pretty good excuse. He cares for you—that much is obvious." She smiled. "If you're going home, then I will head home as well."

She nodded. "Thank you for waiting with me."

Florence shrugged. "No problem at all." She started to walk backwards in the direction that she lived. "Try not to be too hard on him when he shows up!" she called to Hermione.

Hermione laughed. "I'm not promising anything!" she called back.

Florence's laughter faded behind her and she made her way down the street.

By the time Hermione arrived home, she was a nervous wreck. Draco wouldn't just _forget_, would he? Certainly he cared too much to do that, didn't he? Why hadn't he called and informed her he was going to be late? The least he could have done was called.

She stormed into her apartment, making a beeline for her landline. She picked it up with shaking hands and dialed Draco's mobile.

It went straight to a generic voicemail message. Hermione blinked in surprise. His phone was off?

That was when the doubt set in.

Was he upset at her?

Had she done something wrong?

Did he change his mind about never getting sick of her?

She sat on the couch, not bothering to remove her coat and scarf, quickly spiraling into full state of panic.

What if something was wrong?

She made herself a cup of tea, lifted her masking spell, and removed her jacket and scarf as she settled in on her couch once more. She attempted to read the shop's newest book release, but it was a fruitless effort. The clock had never ticked so loudly. She couldn't focus. She reread the same chapter three times before making a frustrated sound and putting the book down on the couch beside her.

Marching over to her coat rack, she donned her jacket and scarf, then she picked up her wand, cursing Draco for forcing her to do this.

Closing her eyes and focusing on the picture of Draco's living room in her mind, she disapparated with a small _pop._

She was extremely disoriented when her feet landed on hard ground and she stumbled onto all fours. She opened her eyes, willing the dizzy sensation to stop. Her stomach lurched. Something was not right. She slowly stood and looked around—this wasn't Draco's living room. This was…where was she?

She was standing in the middle of a dirt road. There was darkness all around her. She turned in a circle, taking in her surroundings. She could see the city of Claremont in the distance. Okay, then where was…

Up a hill in the opposite direction, she could see the faint light of a house—a rather large house. Was that?

Yes! That was Draco's house. He must have anti-apparating wards on the house. Why on earth would he have his house warded against apparition? And how?

Just _another_ question for her to ask him when she saw him.

She brushed the dirt off her knees and began her journey up the dirt road. She grew angrier and angrier with every step. It was a good long walk to his house, and by the time she arrived at his driveway, she was cold and furious. She didn't bother with a warming spell—the cold was helping to fuel her anger.

His car was parked and motionless on the driveway in front of his door. So he _was_ home then. What the bloody hell was he doing here, keeping her waiting all the way in the city, after telling her he would meet her at six?

She stormed up to the front door and gave six firm knocks on the wooden door. She waited—nothing.

She knocked again, and again, but he didn't come to the door.

Finally, she decided she'd had enough. She reached for the handle, which turned easily. This didn't sit right with her for some reason. Why was his door unlocked? That was incredibly un-Malfoy-like behavior. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Draco!" she shouted as she entered the house. "Where the hell have you…" Her voice trailed off at the sight before her.

The house was a mess. It was absolutely _destroyed._ Draco's belongings were strewn about all over the place. The couch cushions were thrown haphazardly all over the living room. There wasn't a single drawer in its proper slot, his DVD collection lay scattered across the floor, his books as well. The coffee table was a broken splintered mess of glass and wood and...

Her heart stopped in her chest and a cold horror washed over her as she noticed what were undeniably _blood_ stains on the carpet.

"Draco?" she called brokenly, holding her wand out before her. This scene was like something out of a nightmare. It reminded her of the war. His home had been _ransacked. _The impending feeling of danger set in. Her defenses went up, her senses sharpened, and she took careful steps through the room.

She walked carefully but quickly to the kitchen—all the cupboards were open, there were broken cups and dishes on the floor. Pots and pans laid about on the counters and floor as well. There was no sign of the blonde in question. She swallowed, making her way back into the living room and starting down the hall.

"Draco? Draco, are you here? Draco? Oh gods, oh please, please be—"

She threw open the door to his study and gave a great sigh of relief. "Draco!" she called, seeing him sitting passed out in his leather chair. As she came closer though, all her relief vanished. He was a mess! His face was bloody, the left side of his dress shirt was torn and almost soaked through with blood. She ran across the room and took his face in her hands.

"Draco? Please Draco, wake up!" She placed two fingers at his neck to feel for a pulse.

His eyes opened and he cringed. "Ow," he rasped before coughing violently.

Hermione immediately released him and stepped back. There was an abrupt sound of something rolling on the wooden floor and she looked behind her to see a bottle of whiskey. She picked it up—it was empty. She turned back to Draco, sniffing, and realized he _reeked_ of alcohol.

"Are you _drunk? _What… What the_ hell_ happened here?" she shrieked, dropping the bottle. "What have you done to yourself?" Tears welled up in her eyes and she kneeled down to inspect him as she switched into healer mode. "You're _bleeding! _Where are you hurt?"

She took his hands gingerly in hers, looking over them. They were caked in places with blood, but she couldn't decipher where the injury was. She moved to his torso, where most of the blood seemed to be. She unbuttoned his shirt and tried to open it, but it was caked with dried blood and stuck to his skin. She stopped peeling the material away off his skin when he winced. Looking around in a panic, she reached back and picked up her wand from where she had set it on his desk. She held it to his shirt with shaking hands, blinking back the tears that threatened to pour over her eyes. "Sc—"

Draco jumped very suddenly, slapping the wand out of her hand, where it flew across the study and rolled over the wooden floors. "Are you trying to get me killed?" he exclaimed, his eyes wide. He winced at the sudden movement. "Sweet Merlin, that hurt," he groaned.

"What…What…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Draco Malfoy, you explain yourself _right this instant!"_

He flinched. "Do you have to yell?" he asked, scrunching up his face in a pained expression. "No magic. McCoy will…take me to Azkaban." His eyes opened and he looked at her as if he was only just now seeing her for the first time since her arrival. "How are you here? What time is't?" He looked around the room.

Hermione stared at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. "It's…" She blinked out of her stupor and glanced at her wrist. "It's almost eight at night."

He nodded before his eyes started to lose focus and his head fell back onto the seat behind him.

"Oh no, you don't! Wake up right now! Draco! Draco! If you die, so help me, I will…I will…"

He came back to focus. "Who's dying?" he asked incoherently.

Hermione huffed. "You are unbelievable."

His lips turned up into a lazy smirk, although it looked strained. "Thank you."

"Not a compliment," she snapped. "Come on, get up."

He shook his head. "I'd rather not."

"_Get up right this instant, Draco Lucius Malfoy, or so help me I will turn you into a ferret right here and now!"_

Draco's eyes widened. "Alright, Granger, alright. Bloody hell, woman." He placed his hands on the armrests and began to stand up before cringing and releasing his grip on the leather. He held his hands out and inspected them, still sitting in his chair. "Ah," he said to himself. "That's right, there's glass."

"Glass?" Hermione took his hands in hers again, flipping them over, palms up. "How did you get glass in your palms?"

"McCoy," Draco growled. "He's a bastard."

She was reaching the end of her patience. She took a deep breath. "Who is McCoy?"

"He's my handler," he answered before shaking his head abruptly. "Wait, no. No he _isn't._ He's an Auror. I am _not_ a criminal," he said firmly.

She shook her head. Aurors? Aurors had been here? That couldn't be right. Aurors wouldn't do…this!

"I don't know…_what_ happened to you today because you're not making the _least _bit of sense, but you need immediate medical attention. I don't know much about Muggle first aid. Please, Draco, please, for the love of all that is holy, get up. We need to get out of here so I can treat you properly."

He looked up at her, his gray eyes unfocused and empty. He looked so old and worn down in that moment, it broke Hermione's heart.

"Alright," he said.

She reached for his elbows and helped pull him onto his feet. He immediately hunched over, favoring his left side and placing his hand against his ribs. Hermione ran over to pick up her wand before sticking it in the pocket of her jacket. Looping his right arm around her shoulders, she helped him out of the study. They left the house, and she brought him to the passenger side of the car.

"Where are your keys?" she asked him.

"In…the…the ignition," he said with a slight slurr. "I left them there so I could make a…an…emergency getaway. So the bastards couldn't kill me."

Growing more and more confused, she opened the passenger door for him and helped him into the car. He landed in his seat with a grunt.

She hurried over to her side and got in the car. Sliding the seat forward, she turned the keys in the ignition. The engine whirred to life. She swallowed, hoping she could drive this stupid thing. She could count on one hand the number of times she had operated a Muggle car in her life—and they had all been while her parents were in the car, giving her instructions. She put the car into reverse and glanced at Draco.

His head was bobbing down to his chest as if he was about to pass out.

"Draco, you stay awake! Do you hear me? Don't fall asleep. I don't know what injuries you have. Do _not_ fall asleep."

Draco grunted. "I'm not going to die Granger, I'm fine. I'm just…very, very, very drunk."

She shook her head angrily and she began to back out of his driveway. "If you're still alive when we get to my flat, I'm going to kill you."


	30. Fights and Letters

When they arrived at Hermione's apartment, she helped Draco sit on her couch and immediately set to tending his injuries. He did nothing but flinch occasionally as she withdrew tiny shards of glass from his palms.

"Why did you leave these in your skin all day?" she admonished.

He didn't look at her. "I got most of them out earlier," he grumbled.

She placed her wand at his shirt, glancing at his brooding face before muttering _scourgify._ The blood from his shirt vanished and she was able to remove it from his body. He winced as he pulled his arm out of the sleeve.

Hermione fetched a wet towel to clean away the dried blood from his skin. As she brushed over the long cut on his side, he winced again, but said nothing.

His behavior concerned her. Usually when Draco was hurt he would milk the injury for all it's worth, but now he was silent and stoic, doing no more than gritting his teeth and flinching. What she wouldn't give for a sarcastic exaggeration or two right now…

Once she had magically sealed the cut over his ribs, she took his face in her hands, looking at his swollen and split lip. She kissed his forehead, taking a moment to thank the powers above that he was alive and here with her right now. She began to dab at the blood that was stained on his chin with the wet towel.

He tore his head away from her hands. "Stop fussing over me," he snapped. "I'm fine."

Hurt welled up at his harsh tone and she snapped right back. "Beginning to sober up now, are you? I happen to know for a fact that you are _not_ fine, so stop being a prat and let me help you," she said sternly.

He glared at her and she pursed her lips stubbornly as she finished cleaning the blood off his face. When she was done she got up from her knees and sat beside him on the couch.

"Now," she began her tone softer, "What happened today?"

Draco wouldn't look at her. He was sulking again, and he seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the floor with his eyes. "McCoy came to visit."

"You mentioned that name before—who exactly is McCoy?"

"He's an auror."

Hermione started. "An auror did this to you?"

Draco shrugged one shoulder. "Well he punched me in the face and threw me into the coffee table, yeah."

Her jaw dropped. "Why?"

"Because he's an asshole. Because I'm a Malfoy. I don't know. Why don't you ask him?"

She was suddenly filled with rage at the thought of an auror mistreating Draco this way. "You need to report him! He works for the Ministry! Aurors aren't allowed to abuse their power like that."

Draco chuckled at this. "Sure, Granger. I'll report him. In fact, I'll write Shacklebolt himself and inform him that a _Malfoy_ was injured at the hands of one of his precious defenders of the light. I'm sure I'll get a sympathetic apology in return." And with that, he stood up—slowly—and grabbed his now clean shirt off the couch and walked out of the living room.

Hermione blinked after him, wondering what the hell had exactly happened today to put him in such a dark mood. Whatever it was, she was sure she could bring him out of it. She followed after him.

He was drinking a glass of water in front of the sink when she entered into the kitchen. _Merlin,_ he was thirsty. His head was pounding and he felt like he'd been hit by a car. How was he hungover already? It had only been-he glanced at his watch-oh. Eight hours since he started drinking. Had he finished that second bottle of whiskey? He couldn't remember. His memory was fuzzy between when he started drinking and when Hermione drove him to her apartment.

"Why were the aurors at your house today?" she asked. "I don't understand. What started all of this?"

Draco slammed the glass down on the counter, anger and irritation stirring deep within him. "Funny you should ask that, actually. Apparently they put a trace on my house and were informed of some _unregistered magic _last Saturday. They assumed I was the culprit and this morning I walked in on them about three quarters of the way through their search of my house."

"This all happened _this morning?_ You sat bleeding in that chair _all day?"_ she asked. She was silent for a moment and he didn't look away from his grip on the kitchen counter. "This is my fault," she said quietly. "It's my fault they did this to you. Draco, I'm sorry. I'm so…" He heard her sigh. "Did they run a diagnostic spell on my magical signature?"

He sighed heavily, feeling his irritation bubble to the surface. "Not that I'm aware of."

"But I apparated to your house tonight—or I tried. Wouldn't that…"

Draco closed his eyes and silently thanked his lucky stars. "My mother put up anti-apparition wards about six months ago when she visited me so that my Ministry case workers couldn't just pop in unannounced anymore. It was disruptive." If she hadn't put up those wards, and Hermione had successfully apparated into this home, the Aurors most likely would have been upon them immediately. That wouldn't have gone over well for anyone. If he never saw McCoy again, it would still be too soon.

Hermione nodded. "There's just a trace on your house? You don't think they would be able to pick up on my magic from apparating outside the wards tonight? What if they come back?"

He gave a dark chuckle. "Oh, that's right. I forgot that all you care about is hiding away from the world. I'm pretty sure you're safely hidden away, Granger, I wouldn't worry your pretty little head about it."

Hermione's eyes immediately narrowed. "Don't talk to me like that," she snapped.

"Like what, Granger? _Honestly_, you mean?" It was like he couldn't stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

She visibly flinched. "How dare you paint me as being selfish right now! My only concern is for you! Do you know how _beside myself_ I was with worry about you tonight? I walked in and saw _blood_ on the carpet! Do you know what kind of _horrible _thoughts were running through my head? I was afraid that you were—that you were-" her voice broke and she looked away, biting at her lip.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed, already regretting his hasty and unnecessary snide comments, feeling guilt now in addition to hungover. He knew he was taking out his frustration on her and that it was misguided. She wasn't a selfish person—quite the opposite. He knew she cared for his wellbeing. But he was too angry to think straight. He needed to stop this conversation now. "I'm sorry, just…forget I said anything. I'm in a foul mood, it has nothing to do with you. I shouldn't have said that."

"You're right, you shouldn't have!" she said angrily, working herself into a right state. "You don't get to pass judgment on me, Malfoy."

He laughed bitterly. "Malfoy, is it? Are we really back to that now?" He stared at her incredulously, feeling a pang of hurt at the unfamiliar way she addressed him. "And I'm not passing judgment!"

"Yes you are! That's exactly what you're doing!" Her cheeks were red and her tone was steadily rising.

"Look, let's just drop this. I don't want to fight right now." He suddenly felt very tired.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have said anything in the first place," she said coldly.

Draco's eyes narrowed to slits. He could feel something snap within him at that moment. What _was _that? Oh yes, his temper. "That's right—you want to live in denial, how could I be so careless?" He held his arms out wide. "_I'm sorry_ for threatening your little bubble of ignorance!"

"Ignorance? I'm not ignorant!" she shouted indignantly, her chin jutting out in a very stubborn manner.

"That's exactly what you are, Hermione. That is _exactly_ what you are being right now." He stepped closer to her. "You want me to sit here and pretend everything is alright while you sabotage yourself because you're afraid of the consequences? Well, guess what? I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to lie to you and fake some kind of ignorantly joyous state of mind. I care _too much_ for you to stand by and allow you to destroy your life. _Ignoring _your problems is not going to make them go away!"

Hermione's eyes were ablaze. "Are we _really _talking about this right now? _Now, _of all times? Fine! Fine. You think you have it all figured out, do you? You don't know anything about it."

"I don't, do I? When was the last time you looked in the mirror and liked what you saw looking back at you?"

She scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about _shame,_ Granger. I know a thing or two about it. And you practically _reek_ of shame," he snarled.

She physically reeled back as if he had slapped her. A very vulnerable look flashed over her face for just a single moment, and he knew he was right. He hated being right. He certainly didn't want to be right about this. The vulnerable look was gone in a mere second, replaced by pure wrath, and that was all it took for him to know that this—whatever blissful arrangement he and Granger had had over the last few weeks—was over.

_How could I have been so stupid?_ he wondered. S_o stupid to think we could actually make this work?_ He knew that the hurtful—but true—things he had said were too big to look past. There was no coming back from this. She would never look at him the same way. She was going to be the Fermina to his Florentino, his self-induced case of Cholera. He was fucked.

In that moment, he decided he didn't care. _Screw this. If it's going to be over, I'll say what she needs to hear._

"You don't know anything about me," she hissed with rage.

"I think I do, Granger. I know you quite well. Intimately, in fact. Well enough to know that you are _wasting_ your life like this. Do you really think you can live forever like this, here? Living in isolation under the pretense of being someone else and dating a war criminal in some foreign country? Is that how you want to spend the rest of your life?"

Her eyes widened and she looked up at him almost sadly, like she suddenly pitied him. Her frown deepened as she shook her head. "It's my life. I can live it however I choose, Draco."

He nodded. "Yes, you can. But you're _not_ living your life however you want to. You're punishing yourself. This isn't the life you want—not really. You can't lie to yourself forever."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears and she took a shaky breath. He could practically _feel_ the anger rolling off of her. "Enough of this! Enough! I don't want to talk about this anymore!"

"Well that's too bad, because we're talking about it and we're going to keep talking about it until you man up and _do _something, Granger!"

"Don't tell me to do something, Malfoy. You don't get to order me around. You're the _last _person who gets to make decisions for me, okay? I don't need input from you," she snapped.

And that was when everything inside him fell apart. Something within him broke completely. All the anger and frustration drained from his face, replaced by a mask of indifference. He looked down and swallowed. "Because I'm a Malfoy."

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

"That's what you're trying to say," he sneered. "Isn't it? I'm the last person you want input from—"

"What? _No!_"

"—Because I'm a criminal."

"Draco, I would never—"

"That's sure how it sounded," he said coldly.

_"You're scum,_" McCoy's voice replayed in his head. _"You'll meet the same end as your father. Mark my words."_

Panic swirled around him. Why had he done this to himself? Why had he allowed himself to be anywhere _near _Hermione bloody Granger? She had found him passed out drunk, bloody and humiliated today. Shame washed over him and his face darkened. Who was he kidding? Running around, playing the role of Granger's demented boyfriend? That's not who he was. Fuck this. Just fuck all of this. He picked up his shirt off the counter and slipped it on with a small amount of pain.

She shook her head frantically. "No, Draco, _listen _to me for once! I could _never_ think_—_"

He held up a hand as if to stop her. "I'm finished listening." Feeling an all-encompassing panic begin to swallow him whole, he reached in his trouser pocket for his car keys and turned for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice pitching.

"I'm leaving," he replied cooly, buttoning up his shirt, his back still to her as he continued on his way.

"_Leaving?"_ she shrieked. "Draco, you can't leave like this! You're in no condition to be going anywhere! Please!" she cried, beginning to follow after him. "Draco! Stop!"

He slammed the door in her face, and he was gone.

As Draco marched to his car, he decided to end this once and for all. Enough of Granger's cowardly hiding, enough of Granger's pathetic disguise, enough of this…this pretense.

If Granger was too spineless to come clean, he would do it for her.

He drove to the Wizarding side of town, and parked his car on the side of the road. He reached into the middle console of his car for a small purse of Wizard money that he kept there. He slipped on his winter jacket, wincing at the pain in his side, put the purse in his pocket, and got out of his car, waiting for traffic to clear before walking as fast as he comfortably could across the street. He approached a rather dim looking shop, above which sat a dark green chipping sign with faded gold writing. _Madame's Antiques,_ it read. The bell tinkled as he entered, and he felt an familiar odd sensation of glamour lifting as he passed through the doorway. The shop was served the same purpose as The Leaky Cauldron. On the outside, it looked like a dump, like a dirty old abandoned shop. Muggles avoided it, and hardly ever looked at it twice. But on the inside, it was a large and bustling, multi-purpose wizarding shop. They sold an assortment of things, and there was a little café at the far corner. The store was mostly empty, seeing as it was very late and nearing closing time.

Draco approached the front desk. _"I need to send a letter,"_ he told the gaunt-faced young man leaning tiredly on the counter.

_"The owlery doesn't open again until morning,"_ the young man replied with a yawn.

_"I will give you ten Galleons if you post this letter right now."_

The young man blinked his sleepy brown eyes and stood up straight at this. He narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. _"Why?"_

_"It is a personal emergency. I really must send this letter."_

The man eyed him warily, his gaze lingering on Draco's split lip. He began to look suspicious.

_"Please," _Draco added, his frustration building. He wanted to get this over with.

_"Alright,"_ the man agreed. _"But post rates are standard."_

Draco rolled his eyes. _"I will pay you ten galleons in addition to the post rates, obviously." _Greedy git.

The young man smiled, looking very pleased with himself.

_"Do you have something for me to write with?"_ Draco asked him.

He reached down behind the counter and pulled out a thin box filled with pieces of parchment. Draco grabbed one and then reached for the quill that sat on the far end of the counter in a small glass container of ink.

**You will find her in Claremont, France.**

He blew on the ink, willing it to dry. Once he was satisfied it wouldn't smear, he rolled it up, wrote _Auror Harry Potter, The Ministry of Magic, London, England _on the outside of the parchment, and handed it to the young man behind the counter.

_"Alice!" _he shouted hoarsely.

A few seconds later a thin girl who looked about his age approached the counter.

_"What?"_ she asked, looking rather unenthused.

_"Run this to the owlery for me, will you?"_

_"What? But I just closed it fifteen minutes ago!" _she whined. Draco flinched at the high pitched sound, rubbing at his pounding temples.

_"Just do it, please. Now!"_

She huffed and snatched the rolled up parchment from him before stomping away.

The man turned back to Draco. _"International post is eight galleons," _he told him.

Draco handed him the appropriate payment—including the additional galleons. He handed him five extra Galleons on top of that.

_"For your discretion,"_ he told him, ignoring the confused look on the man's face before turning and leaving the store.

He crossed the street as the dark night breeze blew around him. He gritted his teeth, trying in vain to ignore the pang of guilt that sat heavy in his stomach. What was done was done. It was over now. Soon Scarhead and Weasel would come to collect her and he would never have to see Granger or talk to her again.

Good. It was better that way.

If it was better this way, why did it feel like he was lying to himself?

**Alright guys. It has begun. Next chapter is from Harry's POV!**


	31. Harry

**Short chapter, but you guys will get more soon- don't worry. Good news: This weekend will be devoted entirely to writing and posting. So expect multiple chapters daily from Friday night until Sunday afternoon! Hooray!**

The following morning, Harry Potter walked into work at the ministry with a tired look on his face and his normally unruly hair looking like he had just rolled out of bed. He nodded in return to his coworkers when they greeted him as he passed. He had been up late the night before completing paperwork for his cases. They were due this morning, and he hadn't finished them until well after midnight.

He stepped into the lift and leaned against his shoulder against the wall, thinking over everything on his agenda for the day.

"Morning, Potter."

"McCoy," he greeted the short man tersely. McCoy was currently suspended to desk duty for losing his temper on one of his cases—again. He didn't know the details, and frankly, he didn't care. It seemed like McCoy was in trouble due to anger problems every month. Harry didn't much like the man. He was a loose canon and a pain in the arse to work with.

"Hold the elevator!"

Harry reached out and caught the elevator door just before it closed. The door opened and a very disheveled Ron Weasley offered him a dopey smile.

"Thanks, Harry," he said as he shuffled into the elevator with an envelope in his arms. A few papers slipped out and he struggled to catch them before shoving them haphazardly back in the folder. "_Merlin_, I have so much to catch up on today," he complained, standing beside Harry.

Harry grinned. "You didn't finish your reports, did you?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "What do you think? Linda said if I turn in my reports late one more time, she's not going to accept them."

"Didn't she say that last month though? Right before you turned them in late again?"

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, but I think she's serious this time. You'd think she'd give me a break considering I'm dating her sister."

Harry laughed at that. "Don't think she gives anyone breaks for anything, mate. I just finished mine last night. Ginny was already asleep by the time I got home. I got an earful about it this morning, though," he said with a grimace.

Ron nodded sympathetically. "Every time this day comes around, I can practically hear Hermione's voice in my head. _Ronald Weasley, there is no reason to put this off any longer,"_ he mimicked in a stern, high pitched voice.

Harry laughed heartily. "Yeah, I'd be lying if I said that wasn't the reason I stayed late to finish mine last night."

"I should have stayed late to finish too," Ron grumbled.

Harry sighed, thinking about his fruitless search for Hermione. He hadn't found any trace of her in America two weeks ago. He didn't know what else to do. He'd practically searched all of Europe for her—she wasn't anywhere to be found.

"You alright?" Ron asked him. "You're thinking about her again, I can tell."

Harry shrugged. "America was the last tangible lead I really had. I know you think she's…dead, but I just…" he shrugged again. "It doesn't seem right, you know? It doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense."

The lift dinged and a charmed voice announced the floor. All three men exited the lift and Ron followed Harry to his office.

"Has Ginny said anything about it?"

"No, she didn't say anything. She doesn't love it when I leave, but she doesn't say anything about it. She wants to find Hermione as much as I do."

"We _all_ wish you could find her, mate, but I just don't think it's going to happen."

Harry huffed.

"Don't get all pissy about it, Harry. Come on. I loved Hermione just as much as you and I miss her just as much too. I know we didn't…get along at the end, but…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "That doesn't mean I don't care. I just don't see what you hope to find. She's gone. It's been so long. If she was out there, we would know it, don't you think?"

Harry said nothing, only shrugging.

There was a tall woman with short wavy blonde hair waiting impatiently outside the door of Ron's office as they approached it. Her arms were crossed and she was tapping her foot when they arrived.

"Ron!" she exclaimed when her eyes found him. "We have an early meeting this morning. Did you forget? Everyone is waiting for you in Engleworth's office!"

Ron ran his broad hand over his face. "Oh no," he moaned. "I did forget. I'm sorry. Harry, got to run. See you in training later?" he said as he and the blonde took off down the hallway.

Harry grinned as he ran down the hallway, shaking his head. He couldn't think of more than a few times when Ron _hadn't _been late for something. He arrived at his office and opened the door. Leaving the door ajar, he sat down at his desk and began looking through the case files that had been placed on it earlier that morning. He had a ton to do today—training the new aurors, checking on various cases, he was due at court twice today to give testimonies, the list went on and on.

It wasn't more than a few minutes later when a brown speckled owl flew in to the room, landing clumsily on the desk in front of him, knocking quite a few items to the floor.

"Tired, are you?" Harry said to the bird as he reached down and picked up the framed picture of him and Ginny on their wedding day up off the floor. Ginny grinned, a vision in her white gown, as he placed it back in its proper place on the desk. He picked up the files that had been knocked over and turned to the bird. "Come here," he said, reaching for its leg and untying the roll of parchment. The bird settled on the corner of his desk as he unrolled the letter. It was a short note—just one sentence—and when he read its contents, his eyes widened.

It wasn't until he heard a flutter of wings that he looked up to see the bird disappear out of his office.

He jumped up to his feet and ran after it, slamming his shoulder into the doorway on his way out.

His coworkers all looked up from their desks to stare at him with confused expressions on their faces.

_"Somebody stop that bird!"_ he yelled as he rounded the corner, running as fast as his feet would carry him.


	32. The Boy Who Didn't Stop Searching

Two days had passed since Draco had stormed out of her apartment, and Hermione's work performance was suffering. It wasn't even two in the afternoon yet, and so far she had mis-rang two different customers' purchases, re-stocked books on the wrong shelves, bumped into about three different people, and was presently trying in vain to scrub out the tea that she had just spilled all over her blouse. Florence was watching her out of the corner of her eye, becoming increasingly worried.

"Joan," she called, looking up at her from the book she was reading. "Joan._ Joan!_ Stop! You're making it worse."

Hermione was scrubbing at the stain compulsively, feeling her composure begin to break.

Florence took Hermione's hands in her own to stop her, and when Hermione began to cry, she pulled her into a warm hug.

"Shhh," she soothed, rubbing circles on her back. "It's okay. It's okay," she said softly.

Hermione shook her head from where it lay on Florence's shoulder. "It's not," she sobbed. "Nothing is okay."

Florence pulled back and reached for Hermione's hands again. "Come on. You need a moment. Let's go to the office."

_"Grandmere!" _she called as they passed Marion on the way to the office. _"We are going to take a short break."_

Marion nodded, her eyebrows knitted together in concern on her wrinkled forehead.

Florence guided Hermione into the office and closed the door behind her.

Hermione sank into the chair and just let herself cry for a few seconds. She hadn't had much of a physical reaction to Draco's outburst the other night. After he stormed out, she kicked the door behind him before running to her room and screaming into her pillow. Then she crawled into bed and laid there, thinking, until some time early in the morning when she was finally able to fall asleep. All week she had thrown herself into work, not speaking a word of Draco to anyone. She quickly dismissed any and all of Florence and Marion's questions, and filled every spare minute of her time reading.

"Alright, Joan," Florence said in her accented English. "Enough of this. What is going on? I've never seen you like this. You've had some very concerning moods over the last month or so since Draco came along. What's going on with you? And enough of your excuses! You don't have the option of not talking about it anymore. You need to talk to _someone._ There is something seriously wrong."

Hermione's tears subsided and she took several shuddering breaths. "I know," she said shakily. "I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"What are you apologizing for? You are human. We feel things. You are feeling a great deal of things today, it seems. I just want to know why. Stop apologizing and just tell me what's wrong. Are you in trouble? In danger? Did Draco hurt you?"

Hermione looked up at her in shock. "What? No," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "No, nothing of the sort. Draco would never…" she trailed off.

Florence perched on the desk, sitting there patiently with her hands folded in her lap. "Go on," she encouraged. "Talk to me. I am your friend, Joan. You always keep everyone at such a distance! We are friends, I am here to listen and to help you. So tell me."

Hermione looked up at her kindhearted coworker thoughtfully before nodding. "Well for one," she began with a slight tremor in her voice. "I think Draco broke up with me."

Florence's eyes widened. "What?" she exclaimed. "The night he was late?"

The witch nodded.

"Is that why he did not show up?" Florence asked angrily.

"No, he had…a pretty good excuse for not showing up." She wiped her eyes and exhaled deeply. "He…oh, it's so complicated."

"You always say this—_it's complicated._ Well, please explain yourself. What is so complicated about your life?"

Hermione caved. "I ran away," she admitted tiredly.

Florence frowned in confusion.

"From England, I mean. I didn't just move here, I ran away. My parents had died, and…there was just too much going on. I told my friends and family I was going on holiday, but I just…never went back."

Florence sat back, her jaw dropping. "Joan!"

"It gets worse," she said, looking down at her hands. "I was informed a few weeks ago that back home, I'm presumed dead. They all think I'm dead."

Florence gasped. "What? What did you do? Did you call them and tell them?"

Hermione's shoulders sank. "No."

"No?" the young French girl repeated. "Why not?"

Hermione shook her head. "That's the question of the hour, Florence. That's most of the reason why Draco and I fought the other night."

She shook her head and frowned. "Draco knows you ran away?"

"Draco and I went to school together as children," Hermione said, swallowing thickly. "He knows all my friends and family. He's very frustrated that I haven't contacted them. He called me a coward."

"You knew Draco as a child?"

She nodded.

"But he didn't recognize you that day! Why didn't you tell me?"

Hermione rubbed her face. "I look very different than I did when I was younger," she said through her hands. "He didn't know who I was until I told him."

Florence sighed. "Joan, you must contact your loved ones."

"I know!" Hermione exclaimed. "I know, but I just…whenever I sit down to do it, I panic, and I can never go through with it. What is wrong with me?"

"What are you afraid of?"

"Everything. I'm afraid of how they'll react, I'm afraid that they'll never forgive me, that they'll hate me… Draco said I'm punishing myself because I'm ashamed."

Florence looked thoughtful. "What are you ashamed of?"

Hermione folded her arms and bit the inside of her cheek. "I abandoned the people closest to me. How can I just ask them to let me back into their lives?"

The brunette kneeled down before Hermione. "I have always wondered why you continue to work here."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean? There's nothing wrong with working here! I love it here! I love books; I enjoy reading and leading the book club. I love seeing you and Marion every day."

"I know you do," Florence said, reaching out to touch Hermione's hand. "And you do a wonderful job. But…you are educated. You have a degree—you told me you were a doctor once. You're young, beautiful, talented, intelligent, and you work in a small little shop on a quiet side of town. You have no contact with family or friends. You do nothing but work—although you have been spending a considerable amount of time with Draco lately, and that is nice, but it is…" she sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that it is obvious you are limiting yourself."

Hermione blinked, watching Florence with wide eyes, amazed at the wisdom pouring from such a young girl's mouth. She took a deep breath as she looked back down at her hands. "I think you're right. I think _Draco_ was right. Being here brings me happiness, it really does. But…maybe I am punishing myself."

"And you should not do that!" Florence admonished. "You took a little longer on your holiday than you planned. That is okay. Your family and friends have a…misunderstanding. So just inform them that you are here. They will forgive you. It is really very simple. Your life has been so complicated for so long, you can make it simple again."

Hermione nodded. "Enough is enough," she told herself.

"Exactly!" Florence encouraged, placing a hand on her back.

"I'm going to contact Harry," she decided.

"Wonderful! Wait, who is Harry?"

Hermione smiled. "He's my best friend—he's practically my brother. He's been searching for me since I left."

"I see. Yes! Contact Harry!" Florence exclaimed with a broad smile. "Then Draco will have no reason to be upset with you. Maybe you can tell him that you've made your decision."

Hermione laughed. "Well, the issue with Draco, it's…" She shook her head. "I'm not going to delve into that explanation. But I think he's going to put up a fight."

"A fight?" she repeated, looking confused.

"Draco doesn't think he deserves anyone. He has a criminal record and he thinks that detracts from his worth somehow. He pushes people away. I'm fairly certain that's what he was doing the other night. He's so stubborn!"

Florence gave her a knowing smile. "Sounds very much like a coworker of mine," she teased, nudging Hermione.

She chuckled. "We are very similar," she agreed.

"Kindred spirits, I would say."

Hermione nodded.

"So are you going to fight for him?"

Hermione looked up at her coworker—her friend—and nodded. "Of course I am."

On the other side of Claremont, unbeknownst to Hermione, Harry Potter stood on the sidewalk outside of a dimly lit antique shop. _Madame's Antique's,_ the sign read. He gripped a wrinkled length of parchment in his hand, and took a deep calming breath.

He was close—he could feel it. He had to be.

_"Kingsley!"_ he had shouted, barging into the Minister's office less than twenty-four hours prior.

The Minister of Magic didn't even jump at the intrusion. "Mr. Potter," he greeted, wearing a serious expression. "Is everything alright?"

Harry set down the letter he had received on Kingsley's desk. "I just received this an hour ago."

The Minister frowned as he picked up the letter and read it. He squinted, confused. "What is this?" he asked.

"It's a letter—sir," he added respectfully. "I need a few days off to go to France."

Kingsley looked up at Harry in confusion. "Are you hoping this is a lead on Miss Granger?"

Harry nodded.

"Who is this even from?"

"I have no idea, sir," Harry said. "There's no name or return address. I was able to get a hold of the owl that delivered it—she's contained in the Ministry owlery right now. I'm planning on tracking the owl to find the letter's origin."

Kingsley looked doubtful. "Harry," he said in a pitying tone, "this could mean anything. You don't even know who sent it. This is…a bit of a wild goose chase, if I'm going to be honest."

Harry frowned. "I have to do this, Kingsley. I have to follow this. I have a good feeling about it," he said, pointing to the parchment where it rested on the Minister's large desk. "I have a gut feeling that I haven't experienced in the entire time I've searched for her. This is important. Please."

"Harry…"

"I promise you this will be the last time I ask this of you. This is it. This is where she is."

The minister sat back in his chair. "If I give you time off, and you leave—but she isn't there, Mr. Potter? Then what?"

Harry bit the insides of his cheeks, determination burning in his green eyes. "Then I'll drop the entire search," he promised.

Kingsley's eyebrows rose and his dark brown eyes widened.

"I mean it, Kingsley. If I can't find her this time, then I never will. I'll give up. I'll stop searching. I promise." He swallowed nervously. "I just need your help tracking the location."

The Minister sighed. "What are you going to do once you find the place this letter was sent from?"

Harry smiled excitedly. "I'm going to find the person who wrote it."

Now, as Harry stood on the sidewalk outside _Madame's Antique's,_ his heart pounding, he smiled. This was it. This was where he would find the answers. He would find Hermione.

He entered the shop, the bell above him announcing his arrival. He walked straight up to the front desk and the younger man sitting on the other side of it with a newspaper in hand. "Hello, I have a few questions I was hoping you could answer," he told him.

The gaunt-faced man, still holding up the newspaper, eyed him as if he was something rather unpleasant that had washed up from the sewer. He replied in rapid French, and although Harry wasn't able to understand what he said, the tone was rude.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I don't speak French."

The man gave a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. "I said," he began in thickly accented English, "what are you looking for?"

Harry placed the parchment on the desk, spreading it out and trying to flatten out the creases. "I received this letter a few days ago. We tracked your owl and it led us here. I was hoping you could look through your records and tell me who exactly sent this."

The man frowned, not even glancing at the parchment before him. "That is private information. We do not release our customers' information to the public." He turned back to his newspaper dismissively.

Harry clenched his teeth, his patience wearing thin. "I'm sorry, I failed to inform you. I'm with the British Ministry of Magic." He held up his badge for the Frenchman to see. "This pertains to a very important investigation. So I'll have to ask you again for that information."

The man narrowed his eyes as he observed Harry's badge. With another dramatic sigh, he set down the paper. "When was it sent?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea. I received it first thing Tuesday morning in London. Will you please check your records?"

With a huff, he reached under the counter and picked up a heavy book. He set it on the counter with a _bang_. Flipping through the pages, he droned, "International mail is not sent until the following morning after it is posted here. We had no letters to London on Sunday or Monday."

Harry felt desperation begin to permeate his core. "Are you certain?" he asked.

"Yes," the man replied. "You can check for yourself," he said, turning the book to face Harry. "But I know, because I accept all the post here at the desk. Nobody on the books has sent anything to London this week."

Harry scoured the pages, the lists confirming what the French wizard was telling him. A wave of disappointment washed over him.

"There must be a mistake. Your owl led me here." He held the letter under the man's nose. "I received his from _you._ It came from your location," he insisted. "Is this your parchment pattern?"

The man glanced down at the parchment and his eyes widened. "What kind of an investigation did you say this was?" he asked curiously.

"A missing persons case, a very important war hero—Hermione Granger. Have you seen her?" He pulled out a picture of Hermione from his robes. It was from the year after the final battle, and she was laughing with Ron and Ginny in the picture. "This one, here," he pointed. "With the curls."

The man shook his head. "I've never seen her before." He glanced around the store, almost nervously. "But I remember the letter."

Harry's eyes widened. "What? Do you remember who sent it?"

"Yes," he nodded. "A very suspicious looking fellow. Blonde. His face was a bit…" he made a motion towards his face. "He had a bleeding lip."

"He was blonde?" Harry repeated, confused. "What else can you tell me?"

"He paid me extra to send it immediately. I was about to ask him for his information to record it, but he gave me extra money and told me it was for my discretion. That is all."

Harry's frustration levels rose. "That's all? That's not enough! How tall was he? What was he wearing?"

The employee shrugged. "He was tall, I suppose. He was wearing regular clothes—Muggle clothes. But that is not uncommon. We do not wear traditional robes here often, as you do in your country."

"What else?"

The man frowned, looking irritated. "What else do you want me to say? That is all I can remember."

"Did he mention any name?"

"Did you not hear me the first time? No. He did not."

Harry was so close, he just knew it! So close, and he was hitting a dead end. No. He did not come this far just to lose Hermione now.

That was when he snapped.

He grabbed the employee by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward.

"That's not enough information! I can't find this man with the description you've given me. Do you understand me? I am _looking for a missing person!_ Now, what else can you remember?" He was practically shouting.

The gaunt-faced man surrendered completely. His eyes went wide and he was practically shaking. "That is all I know! I have told you everything I can tell you! I don't know anything else about the man! I swear!"

The store had gone quiet and people were staring. Harry realized what he was doing and released the man. He clenched his teeth, frustration running through his veins like a high-speed train.

The employee stood up on the other side of the counter, cowering in front of Harry. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, that is really all I know about it! He was blonde, well dressed, with an injured lip! He looked like he had lots of money and he had seen better days. That is all I know!"

Suddenly, Harry had an idea. "I need your memory."

The man's eyes bulged. "What?!"

"Please," Harry added, remembering his manners. "I need your memory, please." He fumbled in his pockets for something he could put it in. "And a vial—or something that will work."

"You want my _memory?_ Are you deranged?"

Harry's green eyes sparked. "If you don't provide the assistance I need, you could be standing in the way of an international investigation! Do you understand? I am trying—"

"Alright," the man said, cutting him off. He nodded shakily. "You can have it. Take it, I do not want it anymore if this is the trouble it brings me!" He held his wand up to his head and muttered under his breath. A silver wisp came away from his temple, floating at the tip of his wand. He reached behind him and picked up a small jar from the shelf, and placed the memory in it. He handed it to Harry with shaking hands.

Harry nodded. "Thank you. Do you have a pensieve?"

The man pointed to the back of the store. "Ask for Hugo. He can take you to one."

Harry looked down at the jar in his hand, then back up to the store attendant, who he had probably just scarred for life.

"Thank you. And…sorry, you know, for…I kind of lost it for a second."

The man nodded, watching him with wide eyes.

Harry rushed to the back of the store, where an old man was dusting off some shelves. "Are you Hugo?"

The old man nodded, and Harry held up his badge.

"Harry Potter, Auror for the British Ministry of Magic. I need to use a pensieve, please," he said in a rushed manner. Every minute wasted was another minute this lead could be getting farther and farther away from him.

He was led through a curtain and to a pensieve in a back storage closet. He carefully poured the contents of the jar into the bowl, took a breath, and leaned forward.

He watched maybe three seconds of the memory before wrenching himself back to his feet in the store—he didn't need to see the whole thing. He would recognize that face anywhere.

_"Malfoy," _he growled.


	33. Explosions

It was Wednesday evening, and Draco was slouched in the armchair of his study, nursing his most true and loyal companion—whiskey.

He tipped the bottle back for another drink, but there wasn't a single drop of alcohol left.

"Figures," he grumbled, dropping the bottle on the floor where it shattered with a loud crash. He flinched at the sound and glanced at the floor, which was now covered in shards of glass.

"Oops," he said in a toneless voice, before laying his head back against the leather. He began to contemplate his next action. He knew that was his last bottle of alcohol—it had been his emergency supply, kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. He looked at his desk now, where three empty bottles laid scattered among various contracts and business plans—paperwork he was supposed to have taken care of today. Instead he had spent the day getting drunk, which was the way he had spent his Tuesday as well.

He had basically started drinking the minute he arrived home after posting that letter to Potter. He cringed at the thought, rubbing his face in his hands. He didn't want to think about that right now. The guilt of everything he had done on Monday night was beginning to eat away at his insides, and in the face of everything—his destroyed home, his encounter with McCoy, his fight with Granger—he was completely overwhelmed to the point where doing nothing sounded better than trying to fix anything.

His house looked the same way it had when the Aurors left almost three days ago. He hadn't managed the focus or the motivation to start cleaning up. He knew the carpet was ruined where he'd bled on it in the living room—and he had no idea how to get blood out of carpet without magic. So he just left it the way it was.

He was deliberating over whether or not he was too drunk to drive into town for more whiskey when he heard banging at the door.

He frowned as the sound stopped. Had he just imagined that? Was he hearing things?

The banging sound came again. Then his doorbell rang—four times.

He groaned. "I'm not home!" he shouted at the room.

The banging sounded once more.

"Go away," he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

When the doorbell rang multiple times again, he realized whoever was at the door wasn't going to stop.

With a growl, he rose from his chair and stormed to the front door.

"Draco!" he heard Granger's voice muffled through the door.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled. He looked through the peephole and saw Granger standing there with one hand on her hip and a persistent expression on her face. She was bundled up in her pea coat, wearing a scarf and a knitted hat.

He leaned his head against the door and gave a heavy sigh. _Why on earth was she here?_

"Draco," came her muffled voice again. "Draco, I know you're home. Your car is parked in the driveway."

He cursed under his breath.

"Please, Draco. We need to talk."

_We need to talk?_ Draco mouthed to himself. What could they possibly have to talk about?

"I'm not leaving until you let me in! I know you can hear me! You're probably standing there on the other side of the door with that brooding look on your face right now."

Malfoy's frown immediately vanished and his expression cleared as he straightened pridefully. He wasn't _brooding! _

Malfoys didn't brood.

There was a soft _clunk_ as Hermione rested her forehead on the door.

"Draco, please just hear me out. I need to say something."

_I'm sure you do,_ he thought. _That woman always has something to say._

"I'm only going to wait out here like this for about thirty more seconds!" she announced.

Good. Then in thirty seconds he would be rid of her.

"And then I'm going to use magic to open this door myself."

Draco's eyes widened.

"And unless you want your friend McCoy to come by for another visit, I suggest you—"

She trailed off as Draco flung open the door.

He glared at her with narrowed eyes. "That's a low move, especially for you," he told her.

Hermione shrugged. "All's fair in love and war."

"What?"

She cleared her throat. "Nothing. I um… We need to talk."

Draco leaned his arm against the door. "I disagree."

Hurt flashed across her face. "Draco, I'm sorry. Okay? You were right. I'm a coward."

One blonde eyebrow rose. "Excuse me?"

She held her arms out in a dramatic fashion. "I'm a coward. And I _am_ ashamed—you were right about that, okay? I didn't like hearing that from you, but it was true. I can't keep doing this—hiding, I mean." She swallowed and reached into the pocket of her jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "I wrote Harry a letter."

Draco immediately paled. "Granger…"

"No, listen to me!" she demanded. "You're going to hear me out, Draco Malfoy! You're always talking, but you never want to listen. Well, I've had enough. You'll hear me out before you say another word."

"Okay, but I have to tell—"

"No! Not one word from you. Alright? Wait until I'm finished—please."

He clenched his teeth, feeling that familiar guilt settle heavily in his gut again. He nodded silently.

She took a deep breath. "I wrote Harry. I'm going to mail it in the morning. I just wanted you to know that I'm done running away, okay? I'm going to face the problems I created." She slipped the letter back in her pocket. "But that's not the main reason I came by here. I came by to tell you that you're not getting away with what you did on Monday night."

His arm slipped from the door frame and he readjusted his footing. He paled even further as cold anxiety washed over him. "What?" he croaked. _How could she know already?_

She shook her head. "You can't just push me away and run me off like that. It's not going to work."

He frowned in confusion. "What are you—"

She took a step towards him. "You did some terrible things when you were younger."

His expression darkened. "Granger—"

"You were a horrible, selfish, spoiled, _prat_ when we were kids. You were mean to me-you were terrible to _everyone,_ really… And then you aligned yourself with the wrong side in the war. But that was _then._ You're a different person now, Draco. I hold nothing but fondness and admiration for you. Do you realize that? I don't think of you as a criminal. I don't think that you're bad person—because you're not," she said, her eyes shining with determination.

Draco's jaw muscles went taut as he clenched his teeth. He looked away uneasily, finding it impossible to meet her eyes.

"I remember your face that night," she told him. "That night at the Manor when the snatchers captured us and Bellatrix tortured me."

His eyes snapped up to hers at that, and they widened in horror. He felt like he was going to be sick. This is the last thing he wanted to talk about right now.

"I remember the look on your face. Bellatrix…she stopped for a moment and was firing questions at me, and I looked across the room and saw you standing there. You were staring at me."

He remembered that exact moment. It used to haunt his nightmares all the time. The memory played in his mind—the way her desperate brown eyes looked up at him searchingly, her chin quivering as she tried not to cry, her hands clenched into fists as she tried not to scream out. The way he had stood by and done nothing.

"I looked into your eyes, and do you know what I saw?" she asked.

Draco shook his head ever so slightly, preparing himself mentally for the answer and feeling more intimately ashamed than he ever had in his life.

"I saw horror and revulsion. I saw fear." She took another step forward, reaching forward to place a hand on his chest. "You're not a bad person, Draco. You never were. You might have been a spoiled child, you might have been terribly misguided and pushed into things you didn't want to do—but you're _not_ a monster, or a criminal."

He couldn't look at her. He couldn't look into her eyes when she was saying these things. She gave him far too much credit, and he didn't deserve it.

"You're a good man, Draco." Hermione told him. "Do you hear me?" She took his face in her hands and turned it to face her. He had no choice but to look into her warm brown eyes—so affectionate and kind.

"You're a good man. You may not see it, you may not be willing to believe it—but I know. I _know_ it's true. I could never think any less of you."

He turned his head away. "Granger, I… You shouldn't… I did something. I sent—"

"I don't care," she interrupted. "I'm falling in love with you."

His gray eyes widened and his jaw went slack as he stared at her in shock. "What?"

She glanced down at her hands on his shirt self-consciously. "I don't know exactly where we stand, or how you feel. But I know that I'm falling for you and I…that I want to be with you. I don't care about the details, I just…" Her mouth opened and closed as she seemed to be at loss for words. "I don't care what you've done or who you used to be. I care about you now—_right_ now. And I love the man you are today. I love you and I—"

He cut her off with an impassioned kiss. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her petite torso, gripping her jacket tightly in his hands like a drowning man would hold onto a raft, like she was the only thing keeping him afloat. He kissed her as if his life depended on it, feeling as if he had been starving his whole life and had only just realized it at that moment.

She moaned into his kiss, tangling her fingers in his hair and pressing herself into his body.

His heart pounded heavily in his chest and he felt dizzy, his nerves endings sparking as

He stepped back into the house, pulling Granger with him, feeling blindly for the door and slamming it closed before pushing her up against it. He picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He grasped her rear, holding her tighter against him and he groaned into her kiss as he felt himself harden painfully.

"I need you," he told her breathlessly.

"You have me," she responded against his lips before kissing him again.

A joyous sensation he couldn't place ran through him and he felt what could only be described as an all-encompassing _need_ for her. They hurriedly made their way to the bedroom, a mess of lips and hands and tongues.

He set her on the edge of his bed and she removed his shirt with a sense of desperation. He practically ripped her jacket off of her. She threw her scarf on the floor after it—her hat had disappeared somewhere along the way to the bedroom. She broke away from his lips to unbuckle his pants, and he kicked them off before pushing her back against the mattress. He undid the clasp on her jeans and pulled them off- removing her socks and boots with them. He became lost in her kiss. Her skin was so soft, so smooth, and he felt an instinctive need to mark every square inch of her body with his lips. He began doing exactly that, kissing her slowly from her jaw to her thighs.

_"Draco,"_ she moaned—a sound that sent tremors down his spine.

Finally he could wait no longer.

"I want to be inside of you," he breathed on her nipple, teasing it with his tongue.

"Please," she begged, her chest rising and falling with heavy gasps. "Now, please…"

He didn't wait any longer. Reaching down and lining himself up against her opening, he pushed inside of her slowly, reveling in the feeling. Her back arched up off the bed and she closed her eyes, her pink lips falling open and releasing a filthy moan.

He bent down and kissed her neck, waiting for her to open her eyes. He brushed her hair out of her face before pumping into her once more. She watched him hungrily, her eyes almost glazing over with pleasure.

"I'm sorry," he said, kissing her. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry. You know I…I… you have to know how I… that I feel…"

Why couldn't he just say the blasted words?!

"Shh," she hushed him with a smile. "I know," she told him before pulling him back into a kiss and wrapping her legs tightly around him, forcing him deeper inside her.

He groaned into her mouth at the wet, warm feeling of her muscles clenching around his cock.

"I love you," she whispered.

A different kind of pleasure coursed through him at the sound of those words, and he pushed into her once more.

"I love you," she sighed as he took her again and again.

An hour later they were lying tangled in the sheets, clinging to one another.

"Please don't do that again," she said quietly.

"What?" he asked as he ran his fingertips over her shoulder.

"Run out like that—the way you did on Monday. Don't push me away. It's not fair."

Draco kissed the top of her hair. "Alright," he agreed. "I won't." And he knew that as he said those words, he meant them. Everything between them had changed now. There was no more running away, no more trying to resist. He was resigned to his fate-whatever that may he. He'd fallen for Granger, and he'd fallen hard. There was no going back.

She looked up at him and grinned. "I don't know about you, but I could use a shower. Care to join me?"

He smirked, feeling like the last two days hadn't even happened. "I definitely feel like joining you."

She reached up to kiss his cheek before rising from the bed and heading towards the bathroom. She threw a playful smile behind her shoulder when she reached the doorway before disappearing around the corner.

He watched her go, taking in the sight of her naked body. He shook his head, marveling at how lucky he was.

"We really need to clean up your house tomorrow!" she called from the bathroom as she started the shower.

The sound of water pattering against the porcelain tub echoed into the bedroom and he sat up in bed.

"It's going to be a right pain in the arse to do it without magic, though," he called back. He stood up from the bed and felt the familiar pulsing in his temples, signifying he was nearing sobriety. He flinched and squeezed his eyes closed until the sensation lessened ever so slightly.

"I'm going to get some water from the kitchen real quick," he called as he massaged his throbbing skull.

"Don't be too long," Hermione teased, her voice echoing off the bathroom walls. "The shower's ready for you."

Draco grinned at the thought of a hot shower with Granger. As he opened the top drawer of his dresser and pulled out a pair of dark green pajama pants. "I wouldn't _dream_ of keeping the shower waiting," he said loud enough for her to hear him before exiting the room.

The tremendous wreck of his living room greeted him at the end of his hallway. He paused, his eyes running over the destroyed room. He'd need to purchase a new coffee table this week. He _liked_ that coffee table.

Bloody McCoy. He hated that man.

He had just turned towards the kitchen when suddenly there was a tremendous explosion that nearly knocked him off his feet.

He staggered, putting one hand on the wall for support before turning towards where the noise had originated from—the front door, which was now laying in three splintered pieces across his entryway—and he almost couldn't believe his eyes.

He had about two seconds to register that a particularly enraged looking Harry Potter was storming through the doorway, right towards him, before he realized what it meant.

"Oh shit," he said, taking a step backwards.

No sooner had the words left his mouth, he was being shoved up against the wall with enough force to knock his head back against the plaster. If his head wasn't hurting before, it certainly did now. He had just recovered his senses when he was pinned back against the wall by his throat. He reached for Harry's hand, prying at them desperately, barely able to breathe through the iron grip that was currently squeezing his trachea.

_"Potter,"_ he choked.

Harry Potter's green eyes flashed angrily, and he looked more dangerous in that moment than Draco ever expected possible.

"I'm going to ask you once, Malfoy, and only once. Do you hear me? _Where is she?!"_


	34. Bathrobes and Questions

**Sorry I haven't been writing and submitting as much as I planned the last two days! I ended up working until 3AM last night and today I just feel plain sick and tired and my head hurts-basically like I have the worst hangover of all time. I'm so exhausted. Very little creative flow pumping today. But tomorrow will be better!**

"I'm going to ask you once, Malfoy, and only once. Do you hear me? _Where is she?!"_

"_Potter," _he swallowed. _"Can't…breathe!"_

Harry let go of Draco's throat and he immediately sank to the ground, coughing and sputtering. He touched his neck, wincing at the pain. "That's probably going to bruise," he croaked.

"I mean it, Malfoy!" Potter shouted. "I'm not messing around! I want answers!"

Malfoy nodded and rose to his feet once more. "I think that much is clear," he snapped. "I gathered you were here for a reason when you blew my door in!"

In a flash, Malfoy was knocked backwards a step by a swift punch to the jaw.

Potter stood there, heaving big angry breaths. "Where is she? I know you have her. I know you sent the letter. All this time, Malfoy! I should have known. I defended you! I said you were innocent!" He grabbed Draco by the arm and hoisted him to upright before shoving him against the wall once more.

"Why does everybody seem to think they can march into my house unannounced and punch me in the face?!" Draco exclaimed angrily as he massaged his jaw. "Potter, if you could just pretend for one single moment that you have any kind of grip on your temper—"

Another punch to the face—this time coupled with a loud and sickening _snap._

Draco brought his hands to his face. "That was my _nose, _you twit!" he shouted with a groan.

Harry shoved Draco against the wall once more, his forearm pressed below his chin. He leaned in close to Draco's bleeding face. "I spoke for you at court for Nott's case, and this is how you repay me?" he snarled through clenched teeth. "You're a monster! You had her the entire time. What, did you keep her in your personal dungeon like at the Manor? Well it's over, Malfoy! You're going to Azkaban, and I'll kill you myself if you don't—"

"Harry?" came a small voice to the left.

Malfoy closed his eyes, sighing in relief.

Potter immediately released him, and he dropped to the floor with a grunt, reaching up to touch his broken nose tenderly. His fingers came away with bright red blood.

He looked up at Potter, who was wearing an expression of disbelief, and he let out a choked sound as he took a step toward her. "Hermione," he whispered.

Hermione was standing under the showerhead, closing her eyes as the hot water poured over her. She sighed as a feeling of renewal settled in her core. She felt content; she felt at peace. Everything was going to get better now—everything was coming together. She would post her letter to Harry in the morning and find a way to make things right with him and the Weasleys. She was finished hiding—she was going to face what she had been running from for so long, and she would do it all with Draco by her side. Sure, that wouldn't be easy. She could only imagine how angry Ron and Harry would be when they found out she was with Draco, but they would just have to find a way to accept it. Draco was important to her. What they had—it was good, and it was _real._ Sure, it was unexpected. She could never have predicted for things to end up like this, but they did surprisingly well together, and he made her happy. He made her _so_ happy.

Suddenly there was a crashing rumble, and…did the house just shake? The water cut off from the showerhead for just a second before continuing to pour down on her, and that was how she knew something was definitely not right. Turning off the shower, she pulled back the curtain a few inches and listened. She could hear the distant sound of someone yelling, and it wasn't Draco. Her eyes widened as she realized something terrible must be happening.

She threw the curtain back completely and stepped out of the shower. Looking around with wide, panicked eyes, she spied Draco's dark brown bathrobe hanging on the back of the partially open bathroom door. She grabbed it and threw it on, tying it around her waist in a hurry. Her hair dripped across the wooden floor as she took quick steps through the bedroom, pausing only to retrieve her wand from the pocket of her coat, which was lying on the floor beside the bed.

There was more yelling, and a few grunts echoed through the hallway. Tightening her grip on her wand, she prepared herself for some kind of altercation. She knew that she wasn't supposed to use magic here, but if someone was here and starting trouble, she would do whatever it took to stop it. If someone was here to hurt Draco… God help them, because Hermione would not stand by and allow him to be mistreated any more.

As she made her way down the hall, words became more distinct.

"…at Nott's case, and this is how you repay me? You're a monster! You had her the entire time."

She frowned. _No,_ she thought. _It can't be._ She would recognize that voice anywhere. Her steps slowed as she turned the corner, and her jaw dropped at the sight before her.

It was_ Harry—_and he had Draco up against the wall, screaming in his face. What had happened to Draco's nose? His face and bare chest were covered in dripping blood. It was even dripping on Harry's arm!

"What, did you keep her in your personal dungeon like at the Manor? Well it's over, Malfoy! You're going to Azkaban, and I'll kill you myself if you don't—"

"Harry?" she called incredulously.

Harry didn't finish his sentence, instead turning away from Draco to look at her. His green eyes widened and his mouth went slack. A choked sound escaped him as he stared at her. He immediately backed away from Draco and took a step toward her, his wand falling from his hand and clattering on the floor.

"Hermione?"

She swallowed nervously as his eyes roved over her, full of shock and disbelief. This was not how she had expected their reunion to go.

"You're…" he swallowed. "You're here. You're alive. You're—" He gave a breathy laugh and ran towards her, pulling her into a tight hug. "Oh god, Hermione you're okay. You're okay. You're here," he rambled, gripping her tightly, one hand on the back of her head protectively.

Hermione closed her watering eyes and hugged him back. Oh, how she had missed him. She had missed him so much!

Harry pulled back and held her out by her shoulders, his eyes roaming over her. "You're not hurt or anything?"

Hermione laughed. "Harry, I'm fine! I'm—" Her eyes moved over his shoulder to Draco, where she saw him leaning forward against the wall, cupping his hands to catch the blood that was dripping out of his slightly misshaped nose.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, wriggling away from Harry. "Harry, what did you do?" She ran over to Draco, kneeling down and taking his face in her hands. She gasped. "Your nose is broken!"

Draco threw her an incredulous look. "I hadn't noticed."

Hermione ignored his sarcastic comment and focused on the bruise that was now blossoming across the right side of his jaw. "Does it hurt?"

He chuckled dryly. "No, it feels wonderful! What do you think? Apparently there is an open invitation to aurors _everywhere_ to break into my home and assault me this week! If I bleed on any more of my floors, I'll have to get the whole house redone!"

She tried to wipe some of the blood off his face with the sleeve of her robe and he flinched.

"Ouch! Don't touch it! You'll make it worse! My nose will never be the same, Granger!"

She let out a relieved laugh. Sarcasm and snarky comments were a sure sign that he was just fine.

"Pinch your nose like this, and tilt your head up. It'll slow the bleeding," she instructed him. He did as she said, and she turned back to Harry, who was standing frozen where she had left him, watching her with eyes the size of saucers and his mouth twisted into some kind of disgusted frown.

"Harry," she began sternly. "Why on earth did you break his nose? You can't just walk into someone's home and…and…attack them!"

"Do you hear that, Potter?" Draco shouted.

Hermione glared at the blonde, and he widened his gray eyes at her. "What? I just want people to stop barging in and punching me! A face like this can only take so many hits. I mean, look at it! My good looks are ruined! I'm covered in blood!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Your face will be fine."

He began to protest.

"And your good looks too, so stop carrying on. Harry will fix your nose." She threw Harry a reproachful look. "Won't you, Harry?"

"I don't want Scarhead touching my face any more than he already has," Draco announced. "Ow! Stop hitting me!" he whined as Hermione slapped his arm lightly. "Why do you always feel the need to smack me when I'm suffering from a previous injury?"

"Wha…" Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, looking very unsure of himself as his eyes flicked back and forth between Hermione and Draco. "What's…What's going on here? I'm…I'm confused."

Hermione sighed. "I think we need to sit down and talk about…some things. But first, will you please repair Draco's nose?"

Draco began to protest once more, but she cut him off.

"Either Harry can do it with magic, or I can fix it the Muggle way—which will hurt far more. Which is it going to be?"

"I don't trust him!"

Harry laughed, his green eyes wide and glinting with mania. "_You_ don't trust _me?_ What the hell is going on? Have I gone insane? Has the whole world turned upside down? Because it looks to me like you two…like you…you're…" He chuckled nervously before his smile dropped from his face. "Wait, you're not…are you?"

Hermione's cheeks reddened and she rose to her feet, pulling her robe tighter around her.

Harry paled considerably. "Why are you in Malfoy's house…and why are you wet?"

Draco smirked from where he was sitting on the floor. "Oh, my dungeons have hot showers, Potter. Haven't you heard? Good water pressure too, if I may say so myself… and complimentary bathrobes, as you can see."

Hermione frowned. "Dungeons?"

Harry shook his head. "Hold on, hold on… Hermione, are you and...and Malfoy…are you two…you know…"

"Fucking?" Malfoy suggested helpfully.

Harry's face was a perfect depiction of horror as all the blood seemed to rush from his face.

"Draco!" Hermione admonished.

"What?"

"Harry, Draco and I…we met back in February and we're sort of…we're…well…"

Harry rubbed his hand over his eyes, his glasses moving upwards and onto his forehead. "What the bloody hell is going on?" He looked up at Hermione once more. "Where have you been? Why are you in Malfoy's house? Why are you…Why is…I mean..._ Just why?_"

Draco snickered before receiving another dangerous look from Hermione, who then cleared her throat. "Let's all move to the living room and we can…discuss this. Shall we? I'm going to go…put on…err…get dressed," she said hastily, causing Harry to groan as if he was in pain. "I'll…be right back." She started off for the hallway, before pausing and turning back to them. "I expect you two to get along. And Harry? I mean it. Fix his nose—and be _nice._"

She heard Draco mutter, "Yeah, be _nice,_ Potter" before she disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

She sighed at the thought of what kind of evening she had ahead of her.

Oh boy.


	35. Explanations

**To my frustrated readers: I would like to remind you, again, that this story is not about Harry. It's about Hermione, and it's about Draco. If you're annoyed that it took so long for Harry to show up, then this is probably not the story for you. The focus in this fanfic is Hermione and Draco getting together. If this isn't what you're looking for, then don't read it. Go read something else instead, but whatever you do, please stop bugging me about it.**

**As to why my chapters are kind of short: I divide my chapters by content. I apologize if it is frustrating or irritating to have a lot of sort of short chapters instead of a few longer chapters, but again, I'm the author, so I can do what I want. I write out the scene as it plays out in my head, and then I upload it. If you don't want to read 35+ chapters, then for god sakes, don't read it. That seems like a fairly obvious solution to me.**

**I ended up working all weekend long, so my time to write was unfortunately limited.**

**Here is the next chapter!**

It wasn't until Hermione had dressed and dried her hair that she was able to process what was currently happening. That was when the question popped into her head—how had Harry found her here? Why had he rushed in and just started throwing punches?

Maybe the Ministry had picked up on her magic when she apparated to Draco's the other night after all.

She braided her damp hair as she walked down the hall to the living room, hearing Draco and Harry's dulled but tense tones from the living room. She was just about to round the corner when she heard Harry mutter _episky,_ followed by a small popping noise and Draco shouting a very angry and dramatic "ow!"

She entered the living room—which was still a mess—to see Draco holding his hands to his nose, his eyes pinched closed.

_"Bloody hell,"_ he groaned.

Harry was watching him with a far too pleased expression on his face, but it cleared when he saw Hermione. She offered him a small smile and sat next to him on the couch.

"Why are you shacking up with Malfoy, of all people?" he blurted.

Hermione's eyebrows rose.

Draco scoffed. "Why do you think, Potter? It's because I have a huge d—"

"That's enough!" Hermione shouted, stopping him before he could finish. He smirked before offering a shrug and using a bloody dishrag to wipe off the blood smeared all over his hands and chin.

She turned back to Harry, who was looking a little green. "Ignore him. He's especially snarky when he's injured. I'm not_ shacking up _with Draco, okay? And I don't appreciate you wording it that way."

"Sorry. I just mean that," Harry sighed, "I just don't understand anything that's going on right now. I came straight to Claremont as soon as I was able to track that letter, and this was the_ last _thing I expected to find. I didn't expect to find this at all, actually. I—"

"Wait, what letter?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

Draco cleared his throat. "About that…"

She turned to Draco. She took one look at his shifty eyes and guilty expression to realize what had happened, and anger tore through her.

"You sent Harry a letter?" she asked, her tone dangerously calm.

"Well…" He seemed at loss for words, before held up a finger and began to ramble nervously. "I would like to start my three part apology by saying that I was trying to help. Second, I would like to remind you that I have a horrible temper. I mean, this comes as a surprise to no one. I was quite angry that evening, and while it doesn't m—"

Hermione bristled. _"You sent Harry a letter?"_ she repeated. "How could you go behind my back that way?"

Draco's mouth opened and closed several times before he dropped his eyes and sat back against the one couch cushion.

She made a sound of disgust. "Of all the horrible, rude_,_ childish, _selfish, _deceitful things you've done, I cannot _believe_ that you would have the gall—"

"I wouldn't call it rude or childish, exactly. I mean, sure, it was all of those other things, but—"

"And when exactly were you planning on telling me?" she shrieked. "Were you going to come clean at all, or what exactly what was your plan, Draco?"

He looked affronted. "Of _course_ I was going to tell you! I was _trying_ to tell you when you showed up banging on my front door tonight, but you wouldn't—"

"You certainly weren't trying hard enough then!" she yelled. "Because you didn't even hint that you had done anything wrong! Here I was, apologizing, like _I_ was the one who was wrong, when you were—"

"You know what, Granger?" he shouted back. "You can be wrong sometimes too, alright? I already told you, I'm not perfect. I fuck up sometimes and if you can't deal with that then—"

"Don't you pull that with me, Draco Malfoy! Don't you play the _poor me_, self-torture card with me!"

"Self-torture card? I don't pull any card! I'm trying to be honest with you! I _was_ going to tell you. I felt bad for what I did! I spent the last two days drinking to try and forget!"

Hermione's eyes were practically bulging out of her head. "Oh is _that_ why you were drinking? Seems to me like you will find _any _kind of excuse to spend your days getting obliteratingly drunk! You have terrible coping skills! Drinking will not—"

"_I _have terrible coping skills, do I? Really? _You're_ going to tell me that _I _have terrible coping skills?"

"You're making it sound like I have some kind of a problem when you—"

"Enough!" Harry yelled, rising from the couch, staring at them like they were sprouting extra heads. "Stop it! Just stop!"

Both Hermione and Draco went silent, turning to look at Harry—Draco glaring, and Hermione's nostrils flaring as if smoke would start spiraling from her facial orifices at any moment.

Harry rubbed his face with his hands. "I cannot believe this is happening right now. Stop…stop fighting, okay? I can't…I can't even deal with this right now. I need someone to explain this very…confusing…situation to me. First off, _where have you been?_" he asked Hermione.

Hermione had the decency to look ashamed, and she glanced down at her hands in her lap. "I've been here in Claremont."

"Why? Why did you disappear like that? Do you have _any _idea how worried I've been? How worried _all_ of us have been? We thought you were dead! We thought Theodore Nott had murdered you! The ministry declared you dead, Hermione!"

"I know, I know! Draco told me a few weeks ago. Before that I had no idea, Harry. I had no idea you all were…I mean, I knew you were probably worried, but I just…I kind of… I just…" Her eyes began to sting with tears.

Draco stepped in. "Potter, she didn't know that you lot thought she was dead. When I ran into her at the book shop, she was living like a Muggle…sort of. I mean, she was wearing a disguise, she looked like a stranger. I didn't even recognize her."

Harry didn't look like he was following any of this. "What?" he asked.

"I don't need your input, Draco," Hermione spat. "I can handle this on my own, thank you very much."

Draco frowned. "I'm trying to help," he offered weakly.

"Well you've done enough, don't you think?" She shouted angrily. "I think you've contributed enough of your own help to this situation! If you want to alleviate your own guilt from going behind my back, find another way to do so!"

He recoiled at her words. "I just…" His gray eyes flashed with anger. "Fine," he spat. "Fine. There's obviously no need for me to sit here in my own _ruined _living room, then! You two can just…" He rose and stormed out of the room, mumbling something about a _golden trio_, and turned for the hallway. A door slammed loudly and it echoed through the house.

Hermione's chin quivered and she took a shaky breath.

Harry turned back to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Are you two always like this? Because I…don't approve…at all. I mean, it's Malfoy. I don't like it. And if you two fight like this, then I don't even see why-"

Hermione was shaking her head. "No, we usually don't fight like this. We're actually very good together, we've been very happy. But when we do fight…" she sighed. "We're very hotheaded. We end up in shouting matches like this." She shook her head again. "One thing at a time, Harry. I have something I was planning on sending you tomorrow." She pulled her letter out of the pocket of her jacket and handed it to him. "Read this first."

Harry watched her with concern in his eyes as he accepted the letter from her hand. He unfolded the letter and began to read it.

Hermione curled her legs up under her, trying to push her feelings and thoughts of betrayal over what Draco had done away. There would be time for dealing with that later. Right now…she needed to fix things with Harry.

Her letter to him explained everything—why she had left, how unhappy she had been in England after the war, how staying in France had been unplanned, that she was working in a bookstore—living without magic—how she was very happy, how afraid she had been to contact them because she felt guilty, and that she was sorry.

A minute or so passed before Harry looked up at her. "I didn't know you were so unhappy," he said, his eyebrows knitting together. "I'm sorry, I should have seen it. I should have helped you more, I just… But you didn't have to _run away_, Hermione."

"I know, but I did. And I'm the one who's sorry, Harry, I really am. If I could go back, I would handle the situation completely differently. It was selfish. If you can't forgive me, I understand. I—"

"Of course I forgive you," Harry said, blinking.

"What?"

"I forgive you. It's done. I mean, I'm still upset, but did you really think I would come all the way over here to find you and hate you afterwards? That's probably the only unintelligent thing I've ever heard you say. You're supposed to be the brilliant one here," he teased.

Hermione gave a choking laugh of relief as tears poured over her eyes.

"You're my best friend. We're like family, Hermione. I can't imagine life without you. You're too important to me." Harry pulled her into another hug, and she clung to him and cried.

"I should have written sooner," she cried. "I tried, I must have drafted a hundred letters over the last two years, but I could never bring myself to finish them or send them."

He hushed her as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. "It's okay, it's okay. Everything is going to be fine now. You can come back to London, and everything will be like old times—minus the fighting for our life part, of course. It'll be so much better. Ginny will be so happy to see you," he chuckled.

Hermione went rigid before pulling away. "I don't want to go back," she blurted.

Harry blinked repeatedly. "What?"

She shook her head. "I like it here. I mean, my life isn't perfect, but I don't want to go back to England."

He looked taken aback by this. "Oh…okay. Well, you…" He sighed. "Why not? You can be happy there with us, I promise. Things will be different this time. I'll be a better friend, I swear. Ron is…Ron has adjusted quite a bit more to the whole…fame thing…than he did a few years ago. We can be friends again. Do you not…do you not want that?"

She nodded emphatically. "Of course I do! I'd like to come visit, and I want to make things right with everybody—Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys—I do, but I don't want to live there. I'm sorry, I just… I meant it when I said I was happy here. My life could do with a few improvements and changes, but I—"

"I can see that," Harry said, his tone heavy with meaning as he glanced at the hallway.

"No, no, Harry—not Draco. He's…" She trailed off with a sigh. "I might be really bloody angry at him right now, and he's going to get an earful for what he did, but…I'm very happy with Draco. No, don't look at me like that, Harry—I mean it. He's changed. He's not the same person he was a few years ago. Do you know he's had to live without magic for the whole Theodore Nott fiasco? He was innocent and they took his magic away!"

Harry nodded. "I spoke at his court hearing. I don't like him, I don't—but I knew he could never be a part of what Nott was doing. Well, now that we know you're alive, maybe they'll lift his sentence. He's already served most of it, anyway. I think the fact that you're alive would help considerably. I could bring it to Shacklebolt when I get back."

"Really?"

He nodded. "You know, I have to give him credit for what he did—for writing me, I mean."

Hermione's face clouded and her lips pursed angrily.

"Not for going behind your back," he clarified. "But…it was a decent thing that he did. He was looking out for you…and for me. We were talking earlier. He said he wrote the letter—partially—because I deserved to find you."

Hermione dropped her eyes to her lap.

"I can't hold that against him. You can be angry if you want, but I can't be anything but grateful to him," he said with a grimace, as if it were physically painful to admit.

"I really was going to post this to you tomorrow," she told him, taking the letter in her hands.

Harry smiled. "Thanks. It probably would have made for a more…calm confrontation," he said, looking around the destroyed room. "What happened here, by the way? Because I blew the door in, but I didn't do _this."_ He motioned towards the room, where it lay in absolute disarray.

She sighed. "This was courtesy of Aurors, unfortunately. That," she said, pointing to the small blood stain on the carpet amid the destroyed coffee table, "was the work of an auror named McCoy. He's one of Draco's handlers."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "That was Malfoy? McCoy is on suspension for some kind of anger problem during a case, but I had no idea it was with Malfoy."

"Good," she exclaimed. "I'm glad he's suspended. Draco was seriously hurt on Monday. He said McCoy threw him into the coffee table. There was glass and blood everywhere, and I had to seal a wound on his ribs."

Harry let out a whistle. "So how did you get away with this?" he asked. "Hiding here, I mean. We couldn't find a single trace of you or your magic, but you say you've been here the whole time."

"I…" Hermione looked properly chastised. "I never registered with the French ministry. I came here by Muggle means."

"That's illegal, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, his mouth turning up in a slight smile. He looked impressed. "You were living here _illegally?_ Practicing magic _illegally?_ Wow, you really _have_ changed. Hey!"

Hermione whopped him over the head with the letter. "I didn't practice _much_ magic," she said nervously. "Just enough to disguise myself every day. And I charmed a ring for Draco once. And…a few other things. But until Draco came along, I almost never practiced magic."

"Yeah about that," Harry said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "How on earth is it that you and Draco are…is dating the proper term?"

Hermione chuckled. "We're together, yes."

"Bloody hell."

"Oh stop. I know it sounds kind of crazy, but… Well, he came into the bookshop where I work one day. He didn't recognize me, obviously. He started flirting shamelessly with me," she said with a roll of her eyes. "We went on one date, I had some wine, and… I accidentally gave myself away. He was very upset when he found out who I was. Not because it was me, but because he'd been blaming himself for my disappearance. He said he would lose sleep at night because he thought Nott had killed me…and he'd been Nott's friend. He felt like he was responsible for my supposed demise because he didn't know what Nott was doing earlier on. That was when he told me everyone thought I was dead. I had no idea—I hadn't read _The Daily Prophet_ or anything since I left. He told me you and Ginny got married!" she suddenly remembered.

Harry nodded, a full blown smile reaching his face. "Yeah," he confirmed.

"I'm so sorry I missed it. How is she?"

"She's great. She's still playing for the Holyhead Harpies, but she's decided to retire after this season because we're going to start trying for kids."

Hermione gasped. "Children? Oh Harry, that's wonderful!" She hugged him. "Oh I'm so happy for you two!"

"Thanks," he laughed. "I'm really happy. Now that you're here, I don't have a single complaint about my life. I didn't even know I could be happy like this."

Hermione sniffed. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." He looked at the coffee table before them and sighed heavily. "I don't know how I'm going to break this to Ron," he said.

Hermione grimaced. "How is he, by the way?"

"He's good. He's trains new aurors with me at work, and he's dating a girl, too—Claire. She was a hufflepuff, just two years below us."

Her eyebrows rose at this. "Really? When did that happen?"

He shrugged. "About…six months ago, I suppose. She's nice, and he seems to like her quite a bit."

"Good," she nodded. "Good, that's good for him. I'm glad."

"How are we going to go about this?" he asked. "You coming back, I mean. You know that you need to come back to the ministry with me, right? You're dead back there. They need to see you to prove you're alive."

She leaned back against the back of the couch. "Yes. I suppose coming back with you is the reasonable thing to do, anyway. I have several apologies to make."

"No one's going to be mad at you, you know," he told her, sitting back and bumping his shoulder against hers. "They're going to be relieved, that's all. You may get a brief, stern lecture from Mrs. Weasley, but…"

"You don't think Ron will be mad at me?"

Harry chuckled. "I reckon he'll be more upset about you dating Malfoy than anything else."

Hermione cringed. "Yeah. I knew that wouldn't go over well with anyone. We really don't fight like this all the time, you know."

"If you say so…Hermione are you really sure about this? About you and…and Draco?"

Hermione warmed at Harry's use of Draco's first name. "I am. I mean, if I don't kill him first for what he did, then yes," she joked. They both laughed at that before Hermione continued. "I haven't felt anything like this before—not even for Ron," she admitted. "I… Draco is a permanent fixture of my life now, Harry."

He shrugged, leaning his head back against the couch with a heavy sigh. "If you're sure…"

"I am."

"Well, I know better than to try and talk you out of something when you've made up your mind. I just hope you know what you're doing."

Hermione scoffed at that.

"I'm not saying I doubt you! I just… I don't understand it. It's _Malfoy._"

"It's _Draco,"_ she corrected. "And I told you, he's a very different person than the one you know. I mean, not _too_ different—he still whines and complains like crazy, but…he's a good man. And he's good to me." She fingered the sapphire around her neck. "He makes me happy."

"I'll try to get used to this," he told her. "I can't guarantee I'll get along with him, or that I like this in any way, because I don't, but…I don't know. I'll try."

"Thank you, Harry."

"You should probably bring him back to England with you when we leave."

"Why?" Hermione paled at the thought of how Ron would react if she walked into the Burrow with Draco.

"To speak with Shacklebolt. He'll probably pardon him when he sees you're alive. It was never confirmed that he had any involvement in Nott's murders, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't your disappearance that fueled the Wizengamot's decision to bind his magic for two years."

Hermione's heart stopped. "What?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"I…I didn't even think about that. It's my fault he had his magic taken away?"

"No," Harry said with a shake of his head. "None of that is your fault. It was the Wizengamot's decision to sentence him. But I think your disappearance was the primary factor in that entire case, honestly. Lots of people had gone missing and lots of people had been murdered, but I think it was the possibility that he'd killed you that really lit the fire under them to go ahead and prosecute Malfoy. There was never any concrete proof against him, you know? They just did it anyway."

Hermione was silent as she processed this.

"I have a few days off—I didn't anticipate finding you so soon. But I think the sooner we get back, the better. Will you come back to the Ministry with me tomorrow?"

She blinked, shaking herself out of her thoughts. "I…I can't. I have work tomorrow. At least let me go by and tell them I'll be leaving. We can leave tomorrow evening or afternoon. I don't even know if Draco can leave tomorrow. We'll have to ask."

"Well he doesn't have to come tomorrow if he's…busy. He can come whenever he wants."

Hermione glanced at the hallway, which was dead quiet. There had still been no sign of Draco, and not a single noise since he'd slammed the door.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Can you lift the trace on Draco's house so I can fix all of this?" she asked, motioning towards the mess around them.

"I could do that," he said with a nod, rising to his feet. Hermione rose with him, retrieving her wand from the pocket of her jacket.

After a flick of Harry's wand, he turned back to her. "I'll help you clean this up, if you'd like," he offered.

She nodded and they set out to right the damage throughout the house. Hermione removed the blood from the carpet after Harry had fixed the coffee table. DVDS and books lifted off the floor and returned to their proper places on the shelves. They worked their way through the rooms, returning pots and pans to the cupboards. Cutlery, dishes, towels, rags, kitchenware—all of it was soon in their correct places. Hermione vanished empty whiskey bottles and glass shards from the study, and drawers were re-filled neatly with their contents and closed. Harry repaired the front door and, together, he and Hermione levitated it back onto its hinges.

Harry opened the now whole and functioning front door after hugging Hermione. At Hermione's insistence, Harry had agreed to stay the night at her flat so he wouldn't have to find a hotel this late at night. She'd informed him she would most likely be staying at Draco's for the remainder of the evening.

He held the key to her flat in his hand. "I'll come by the address you gave me tomorrow at two," he told her.

Hermione nodded. "I'll see you at the bookshop then. Promise."

Harry stared at her for a few moments, as if trying to reassure himself that she was really here before hugging her once more. "I'm so glad I found you," he sighed.

"Me too," she replied warmly as she hugged him back.

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow." He reached for the door. "If you don't mind, I'd like to tell Ginny you're alive."

Hermione nodded. "Of course. Tell her I said hello and I'll see her tomorrow." Happiness bubbled within her at the realization that she would see her closest girl friend in less than twenty-four hours.

"Alright. Bye, Mione."

"Bye," she said with a warm smile before closing the door behind him. She took a deep breath, feeling tremendous relief knowing that all was right with Harry. She still had a lot more reconciling to do, but Harry was the most important person to her. She looked around the now spotless house, and decided it was time to sort everything out with Draco.

Her anger at him had faded a bit—not completely, but a little—at the knowledge that she was partially at fault for his sentence. He had not mentioned that fact once. Not once had he told her that it was mostly her disappearance that had led the Wizengamot to sentence him. He didn't seem to hold any kind of grudge against her for it, which really said something. The only blame he placed was on his own shoulders.

With a deep breath, she started down the hallway to his bedroom, ready to confront him.


	36. Fight For You

**Sorry for the short short chapter! I'm so busy right now :(**

**A family member passed away and I will be out of town for the funeral for the rest of the week and weekend. I'm not taking my computer with me. It's difficult enough to travel across the country with a one and a half year old, I'm not going to put myself through the worry of bringing my laptop along as well. So unfortunately there will be no updates for almost a week. I will be brainstorming the entire time though! And who knows, maybe inspiration will hit me and I'll update a chapter or two off of my Aunt's computer or something while I'm staying with her.**

**Sorry I'll be keeping you guys waiting, but I'm sure you understand. Until next week, then!**

She approached the bedroom, opening the door slowly, and looking around for any sign of Draco—there was none. She could hear the shower running though, so she removed her jacket and laid it on the bed before entering the bathroom.

"Draco?"

"What?" came a rather terse answer.

Hermione sighed as she leaned her head back, looking up at the ceiling. "Harry removed the trace from your house," she told him. "We cleaned up and fixed the damage from Monday."

She was stalling.

Draco hesitated. "…Thank you," he finally said.

She leaned against the marble counters and folded her arms. "Are you ever going to come out of there and talk with me?"

No response.

"Fine," she said, and she began removing her clothes. _We'll see how long he can manage to pout like this if I'm naked,_ she thought smugly. She peeled off her jeans and lifted her shirt over her head. Her socks came off, she unhooked her bra, and stepped out of her panties before throwing open the rather large shower curtain.

Draco turned to stare at her with raised eyebrows.

She stepped into the shower and closed the shower curtain behind her. Steam swirled around them and she stepped under the massive shower spray. She unbraided her hair and leaned her head back, feeling the water soak her shoulders and back. She turned and let the water run over her face and front.

Draco came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her right shoulder before resting his chin on it. She smiled to herself—how well she knew him already!

"I'm sorry, Granger," he said quietly.

She nodded. "I know you are. At this point, I'm more angry you didn't tell me than anything."

"I really _was_ going to tell you."

"I just wish you'd done it before Harry showed up." She put her hands over his, which were wrapped around her waist.

He let out a humorless chuckle. "That probably would have been helpful. You have every right to be pissed at me."

"I know I do," she said with a smile.

He laughed—a real laugh this time—before turning her around and kissing her. "So what's my punishment going to be?" he asked, his tone full of suggestion.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

"I can think of a few things…"

She laughed until he pulled her flush against him and began kissing her neck. Her laugh morphed into a moan as his fingers wandered between her legs. "Wait, Draco…. Draco, wait! We…we need to finish discussing a few things before you just…seduce me."

"No reason we can't do both," he breathed into her ear.

"I'm going back to London tomorrow."

He froze, pulling away slowly. He looked at her with a carefully calm expression and guarded eyes. "I thought you said you didn't want to go back? That you liked being here?"

She nodded. "I do, and it's not permanent. I just have to go to the ministry to prove that I'm alive. And I should probably make my apology to the Weasleys in person…" She shook her head. "But I _am_ coming back to France afterwards. Come with me," she said suddenly.

He frowned. "What?"

"Come with me. Harry said that once the Shacklebolt sees I'm alive he could possibly pardon you—lift your sentence early. You could get your wand and magic back."

Draco blinked. "What?" he repeated.

She nodded. "Harry said he's going to speak to Shacklebolt on your behalf."

His face darkened. "Why is he always doing that?"

Hermione smiled wrly. "Because it's important that he does the right thing. And defending you is the right thing."

He scoffed at that.

"Will you come with me?"

He stared at her, long and hard. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I have a meeting in Paris this weekend, as well."

Hermione deflated and nodded dejectedly.

"I could come up after that, though. If it's…important to you."

She smiled once more. "It is," she confirmed. "You are."

He offered her a half smile. "So you forgive me then?"

"As long as you don't go behind my back like that _ever_ again. You can't do that to people, Draco. And don't give me some excuse about being a Slytherin," she added when he opened his mouth to speak. She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You don't do things like that to the people you love." Her eyes widened at what she'd said. "I mean…you know…people you care about. People you're in relationships with…I mean…"

Draco laughed and kissed her. "I do, you know," he told her. "You…you know that I…that I…"

"Love me?" she suggested humorously. He was floundering nervously, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't find it amusing.

He nodded, leaning forward to kiss her once more.

"And one more thing," she said, breaking away from his kiss.

He sighed, hanging his head on her shoulder. "Yes, Granger?"

"You need to get a handle on your drinking."

He looked up at her with wide panicked eyes, before looking down and nodding slightly. "I'll work on that."

"Not for me," she clarified. "For _you._"

He straightened, assuming that haughty expression he so often wore. "I _know_."

She smiled at his demeanor before pushing him against the shower wall.

He hissed through his teeth and arched his back away from the wall. "That's cold, Granger!"

She grinned cheekily as she used one hand to press him flat against the cold tile once more. "I know it is." She trailed her fingers down his chest, towards his stomach.

"Then why are you—" His sentence briefly dropped off his lips and he made an incoherent sound and moaned as she took his hard erection in her hand. His eyes closed and his mouth went slack.

She smiled to herself and lowered herself to her knees in front of him, taking him in her mouth without warning.

He let out a strangled cry, his hands coming to rest on her head as he bucked against her.

"I thought I was…I thought I…was…being punished…" he said as she worked him in her mouth. "Not that I'm… complaining…" he moaned. "Because I certainly am…not complaining… Oh gods, Hermione," he groaned as she slid her lips all the way down his length, taking him as far back in her throat as she could.

Hermione looked up at him before rising to her feet and pressing her naked body against his. He watched her through feverish eyes, pulling her close with desperate hands.

"I thought I'd give you a chance to make it up to me first," she said.

He smirked, his eyes practically smoldering as he eyed her hungrily, his chest rising and falling heavily. "I think I can do that," he breathed.

"I think you can, too," she agreed, her brown eyes glinting with mischief.

They were lying in bed an hour later, both completely spent. The silence in the house was heavy, now that it was no longer filled with the sounds of their moans and cries. Draco pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her damp head.

"Promise me you're not leaving for good tomorrow," he said softly.

She sat up in alarm, looking at him with wide brown eyes. "What?" she exclaimed.

His eyes shifted away from hers, and he clenched his teeth.

"Draco, of course I'm not leaving for good. I'm not…" she sighed. "I'm not leaving _you."_

He gave a small huff and a shrug. "You could have your old life back again. Maybe… maybe once you're back you'll decide you want something different. It would surprise me if you decided _not_ to go back to working as a healer, honestly. You _should_ do that. You were good at it—I've heard about how quickly you made it through training."

"Draco, do you know what I told Harry tonight?"

He rolled his eyes. "Can't even imagine," he drawled, sounding far more casual than he looked.

"I told him you were a permanent fixture in my life now, and that he needed to accept it."

Draco was watching her with a certain reluctance about him, like he almost didn't believe her.

"And…better yet, he said that he would accept that."

Draco snorted.

"He did! I mean, he acknowledged that it wouldn't be easy, and he said you two probably wouldn't get along—"

_"That's_ for sure—"

"_Please,_ Draco," she complained. "But he said he would try. And that's…that's really all I want for him to do. And you too—I want you to try to get along with him."

"Granger!"

"He's my best friend, Draco! You can't be with me and not at least treat my closest friends with civility. I don't think that's an absurd request, do you?"

He bit the inside of his cheeks before shaking his head. "Alright," he agreed.

She smiled and settled back down on his shoulder.

"I could try to be civil with Potter—and Potterette."

Hermione chuckled at Ginny's nickname.

"But Weasley—I'm calling it now, that is a lost cause. There is no way in hell that he will _ever _accept this."

She sighed heavily at this, her fears of the upcoming confrontation with Ron returning. "I hope it's not, but I fear you may be right."

"And I know that won't be easy for you," he said.

She looked up at him. "They won't change my mind, though. You know that, right? I don't care what or who tries to stand in our way. You're worth fighting for."

He tightened his hold on her, looking down at her and smiling. His gray eyes warmed and radiated affection.

"I'd fight for you any day, Granger."


	37. Home Is Where the Heart Is

**Sorry it's been a while! It's been hard to start writing again. Last weekend was very difficult and exhausting, and this week so many things went wrong in my personal life, I've just been too depressed to write. I sat down and tried to write this chapter three times since I got home on Monday. Then I slept all day long yesterday, and I made good money at work last night, so that cheered me up, and I'm feeling better now. Here's to optimism for the future and a good creative outlet! Cheers!**

** So here it is! Enjoy...Or don't. Okay, here we go:**

Hermione spent the rest of the night wrapped in Draco's arms, staring at the wall and plagued by worry. She kept running scenarios through her head. How was Ron going to react to all of this? What would Ginny say? Would she be angry? Mrs. Weasley would definitely cry when she saw her, she thought with a cringe. On a scale of one to killing Bellatrix Lestrange, how angry would she be that Hermione had left them all to believe she was dead?

The sun slowly rose, and a soft gray light seeped in through the window shades. It was morning, and Hermione hadn't slept a wink. Finally when seven o'clock rolled around, Draco's alarm went off and they rose to get ready for their day. They didn't speak more than a few sentences to each other, and Draco sat closely to her as they sipped their coffee over breakfast. All morning he did things like hook his leg in hers as they sat at the table, or he rested his hand on her lower back as they brushed their teeth. He held her hand the entire drive to the bookshop, and Hermione knew he was worrying about her trip home.

"I'll write you as soon as I get there and am settled in, okay?" Hermione assured him as they stood in front of the bookshop, where he had given her a ride to work.

He nodded, pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her on the forehead.

"You should just get a mobile phone and call me," he complained.

She smiled, hugging him tightly. "I'll consider it," she promised.

He kissed her like it would be the last time.

As she watched him drive away, she felt a small pang of sadness. She reminded herself that she would be seeing him in three days-or a week if he decided not to follow her to Britain after all. She turned to enter the bookshop, taking a deep breath and walking to the office to find Marion.

_"Good morning, Joan," _the old woman greeted as she sorted through papers. _"Lovely day today. I think spring is just around the corner."_

Hermione nodded. It was sunny and bright today, although the cold winter wind was unforgiving and ever present. _"Marion, I'm so sorry, but I need to request some time off."_

Marion looked up at her in surprise. _"Alright. When?"_

_"Tomorrow," _Hermione said with a wince. _"For a week—please. I have some personal things to attend to—"_

_"Okay. Just let me know what day to expect you back."_

Hermione blinked at how easily Marion agreed. _"I…I would expect I'd be back a week from tomorrow. I have to go back to England."_

_"You're going home?"_ Marion exclaimed with a smile. _"Oh that will be lovely. What a wonderful trip for you!"_

_"Something like that,_" Hermione muttered, doubting it would be all that lovely or wonderful. _"Thank you, Marion. And I'm so sorry for the short notice, it was just… there have been some rather unexpected events…"_

Marion held up her liver-spotted hand, smiling kindly, her eyes shining from behind her glasses. _"It is not a problem, Joan. Do not worry about it. You are very hard and dedicated worker, I'm sure it is something very important for you to request the week."_

Hermione nodded. _"It is."_

_"Then I wish you the best and I hope you travel safely. Will you post a notice on the front door that we will not be having book club this week?"_

Hermione felt a wave of guilt hit her. She hadn't even thought about the book club.

"_Joan, I see the look on your face. Do not concern yourself. It is one week. Your book club will be here when you return."_

She nodded. "Of course…_ Thank you, Marion."_

She exited the office and began her usual work routine.

She grew more and more nervous as the evening approached. It wasn't until just before closing time that she remembered to post a hand-written notice that book club was canceled for this Friday on the door. She was smoothing the taped notice over the glass when Florence suddenly appeared at her side.

"Grandmere says you're going home for a week," she said as she leaned against the window and toyed with a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater.

Hermione nodded. "I am, I'm leaving tonight."

"Is Draco going with you?"

She shook her head. "He might follow at the end of the weekend, but I'm leaving tonight with Harry."

"Harry? The one who was searching for you?"

She nodded.

"Oh, you are reunited! That's wonderful. I told you all you needed to do was call him. Are you excited?"

Hermione laughed at that. "Not exactly."

Florence frowned. "Are you not looking forward to going back to your home?"

She sighed. "No, not really. Remember how I told you I ran away? I'm going home to see my friends…who currently think I'm dead."

The young girl's eyes widened. "Well I'm sure they will be happy that you're alive, no?"

Hermione shrugged. "Yes, but when they find out I'm seeing Draco... Ron will probably be furious."

"Ron?"

"He's one of my best friends…or he was, until we broke up…"

"Ah," Florence nodded in understanding, turning back to her sleeve. "Ex-boyfriend drama."

"It's not ex-boyfriend drama," she insisted.

"It will be," Florence said with a roll of her eyes. "There is always ex-boyfriend drama. You will have to let me know how that goes. I'm sure it will make for a good story."

Hermione shook her head. "You and your stories," she muttered. She thought over her life and what kind of a story it would make before taking a moment to feel grateful that Florence only knew her as Joan Spinner-simple and boring, twenty-four year-old bookshop girl. As she walked back over to the cash register to help a customer waiting to purchase a book, she realized with a grimace that she probably wouldn't have the luxury of being Joan Spinner much longer. Once the rest of the world realized Hermione Granger was alive and well, dating Draco Malfoy—she shuddered to think of the media frenzy that would no doubt ensue.

At six o'clock sharp, Harry walked in the door of the shop, clad in Muggle jeans, a thermal long sleeve shirt, and a gray zip up hoodie. Hermione was counting the money in the cash register, but spotted him the moment he entered and rose on the tips of her toes to wave at him.

He frowned, appearing confused, before hesitantly approaching her at the counter.

"Harry, it's me," she told him, knowing he didn't recognize her disguised appearance.

He blinked a few times, his green eyes widening from behind his thick-framed glasses. "Wow. This is…weird. How did you manage that? You don't look anything like yourself!"

She rolled her eyes and began putting the shop's daily revenue in a large zippered pouch. "That was the whole point. I altered an old masking spell." She closed the cash register and locked it.

"You altered a…" he trailed off with a laugh as he shook his head. "Of course you did. I shouldn't be surprised, but somehow I am."

"Joan!" came Florence's voice from behind the bookshelves.

"Be right back," she said, taking the pouch of money and moving to the other side of the counter.

Florence came wandering out from the shelves. _"Joan, Grandmere is looking for you, she wanted to know if—oh!"_ she exclaimed as she spotted Harry. _"I am sorry, but we are closing."_

Harry stared at her, appearing very confused and clearly not understanding a word of French.

"No, Florence, this is Harry—the one I told you about," Hermione explained with a smile. "Harry, this is Florence. Florence, he doesn't speak French."

"Oh I am sorry!" Florence said, switching to her accented English. "Harry, how nice to meet you!" She approached him and held out her hand. He accepted it and shook it, and Hermione started heading to the office to deliver the store's money to Marion.

When she returned to the front of the store with Marion at her side, Florence was chatting at a million miles an hour—as she oftentimes did—and Harry was staring at her with wide eyes, looking mildly uncomfortable and slightly horrified.

"Ready to go?" she asked, her voice full of amusement.

Harry straightened at her approach. "Yes, ready," he said. "Nice to meet you," he said to Florence as Hermione grabbed her purse and jacket from behind the counter.

"Nice to meet you too, Harry!" Florence chirped. "Good luck going home, Joan. See you next week!"

Hermione hooked her arm in Harry's and they made their way to the door, calling goodbyes behind them.

"So what's the game plan?" Hermione asked nervously, pulling her jacket tighter around her as the door shut behind them.

Harry adjusted his glasses on his nose. "We're going to apparate to the French Ministry in Paris, and there's a portkey waiting to take us back to England in about an hour. I figured that would give you enough time to pack and such."

"Where will the portkey take us?" she asked as they set down the street, heading for Hermione's apartment.

"Kingsley's office. He gave us permission to arrive in his office, where we can use his personal floo to go anywhere you'd like. I figured you'd want privacy, that way you don't have to see anyone in the ministry or the press, you know? You don't have to face the public just yet. I thought we could stop at Grimmauld place to see Ginny first. There's plenty of room there, so you can stay with us for however long you like."

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Harry."

"So…erm…Florence was telling me about you and Malfoy," he began.

"Is that why you looked rather horrified?"

"I didn't…I didn't look horrified," he defended.

She laughed. "You absolutely did."

"Well she just… she talks so fast. And she talks a _lot._ She kept saying how handsome Malfoy is," he said, his face scrunching up in disgust.

"Well he _is_ handsome," Hermione told him.

He grimaced. "Alright, that's enough. I said I'd be accepting, but I definitely do not want to hear you go on and on about how much you fancy him, or how great his arse looks in a suit."

Hermione laughed at that. "I never said anything about his arse!"

"No, but Florence did. I wasn't sure where this conversation was going-better to lay out the rules here and now."

"Oh please. This is me you're talking to. When have I ever gone on about a guy with you?"

"That's a fair point," he conceded. "I just wanted to be sure."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry yourself, Harry. I won't divulge the gritty details of my relationship with Draco to you."

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. "Thanks," he grumbled.

When they arrived at her apartment, she lifted her spell as soon as the door had closed behind them.

The tingling faded and she looked up to see Harry grinning, looking very much like the joyous, eleven-year-old boy she had met first year at Hogwarts. "Hey Hermione," he said, before chuckling to himself.

"Hello, Harry," she joked back with a smile. "What's so funny?"

He shook his head. "It's just…I'm so relieved to be saying that again. _Hey Hermione. _I was afraid I'd never get to say that again. Silly, I know. I'm just…I'm in a great mood tonight." He shook his head. "How was your day, anyway?"

Hermione smiled and started for her bedroom, Harry following behind her. "Pretty good." She stopped with a grimace. "Actually, I've been pretty stressed today, if I'm going to be honest. I'm worried about Ron."

Harry nodded, suddenly looking very serious. "You mean his reaction?"

She nodded and pulled her suitcase out from under her bed, placing it on her neatly made bed and opening it.

Harry sat on the bed next to her open suitcase. "Everybody is going to be overjoyed to see you, Hermione—you know that right? No one is going to get mad at you. Not really."

"What about the whole Draco thing? You can't tell me you honestly believe everyone will accept that calmly."

Harry rubbed the back of his thumb against his forehead—something he used to do often as a teenager. He'd started doing it when his scar was hurting him, but Hermione knew for a fact that his scar hadn't caused him any pain since Voldemort died—so the habit must have stuck.

"How about we just…not mention that for now," Harry suggested.

"They'll have to know eventually," she told him. "I meant it when I said he was a permanent fixture of my life."

Harry chuckled. "What, are you going to marry him?" He immediately sobered. "Wait…you're not, are you?"

She laughed as she tossed a few articles of clothing into the luggage. "I have no plans to marry anyone, any time soon."

He sagged with relief.

"I asked Draco to come home to England at the end of the weekend."

"What? Why?" he asked, sounding rather put out.

She shrugged. "I'd feel better having him with me, you know?" She folded a pair of jeans before placing them in her suitcase.

"No, I _don't_ know," he said. "He's _Malfoy_. The fact that you want him there for moral support makes absolutely _no_ sense to me."

"He's not…_Malfoy,_ okay? He's…he's just Draco to me now. He's…well, he's not exactly_ kind,_ because he's rather abrupt at times, and definitely snarky, but he's…he's _kinder._ He's funny, he's thoughtful, he's sweet; he listens to me… I'm telling you, Harry—he's a different person than he used to be."

Harry sighed, putting his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. "I'm sure Ginny will want to have him over for dinner," he grumbled.

Hermione's face lit up. "Really?"

Harry rubbed his eyes. "You know how Ginny is. She loves to socialize. She never really got involved in the whole Malfoy-hating thing. She didn't have many interactions with him in school. I'm willing to bet she'll be the most accepting of this whole…arrangement."

Hermione warmed at the thought of Ginny backing her relationship with Draco—she was a good person to have on her side. "Well it'll be nice to have _someone's_ support."

"Hey! I support you!"

She threw him a skeptical look as she sorted through her dresser.

"I mean…I do!" he insisted. "I just…I think you deserve better than _Draco Malfoy,_ is all. You're practically my sister, Mione. You deserve the whole world. You deserve the moon if you want it. Do you know what I'm saying? I just want the best for you."

"Well, I want Draco, and I think he is the best for me. We compliment each other very well. I haven't even been seeing him for very long. Only a little over a month—that's not very long."

Harry grumbled in agreement.

"But in that short time…" She paused in folding a shirt. "I don't know, Harry. It's just… I can't say it's been perfect, because it hasn't. We fight quite a bit. But I'm so happy with him. I really am. I can talk to him about anything, he makes me laugh; he makes me feel beautiful—as a person. Not just on the outside." She made a disgusted sound. "I sound so silly saying this," she said as the put the shirt in the suitcase. "But I just…when I'm with him, I feel like I'm home." She looked up at Harry, who was regarding her thoughtfully, through narrowed eyes. "Does that make any sense at all?"

He nodded. "That's how I feel with Ginny. Like I'm home."

She smiled. "It's a good way to feel."

"It is," he agreed.

She ran to her bathroom to grab a few more items—her toothbrush, a razor, her shampoo and conditioner, shaving cream—and put them in the suitcase.

"I just wonder," Harry said slowly, "if maybe you're taking to Draco so well because he's the only familiar thing you have here."

Hermione considered that for a moment as she zipped up her suitcase. "That's a valid concern, I suppose, but I don't think that's the case. I suppose only time will tell."

He nodded once more.

"I'm ready to go when you are," she told him as she took a deep breath. She pulled out her wand and shrunk her suitcase to the size of a small purse, then stuffed it into her messenger bag. She looked up at Harry and smiled. "I love magic," she laughed.

Harry grinned. "Me too." He rose from the bed and held out his arm. "I'll side-along you," he offered.

She tucked her bag under her arm and walked over to him, holding tightly to his side. He wrapped his arm around her and lifted his wand, and they disappeared with a pop.


	38. Grimmauld Place

Hermione walked with Harry to the portkey station of the French Ministry rather tensely. She had been living here illegally for well over two years, after all. Every time she made eye contact with a Ministry Official, she flinched, afraid they would know she had been breaking the law.

They received their portkey from the window—a small tin watering can—and sat on a bench, waiting for their departure time.

"Does Ginny know we're coming?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. "I told her I found you, but don't worry—I swore her to secrecy. She won't breathe a word to anybody. I hope you don't mind."

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "She's your wife, Harry. You can tell her anything you want," she said warmly.

"I didn't tell her about Mal…err…Draco. Just that you would be coming to Grimmauld Place with me tonight."

Hermione warmed at Harry's use of Draco's first name. "How did she react?"

"She screamed pretty loudly."

"Screamed? What did she scream about?"

"Oh you know, just that really high pitched sound you girls make when you get excited."

Hermione laughed. "I'm really looking forward to seeing her. I missed her a lot."

"She missed you too. She's always complaining about being the only girl around."

"That can really wear on a girl. You boys are a handful," she acknowledged.

Harry scoffed. "We are not."

"Are so," she argued.

Just then the watering can in his hands began to warm and vibrate. He looked up at her. "Thirty seconds 'til activation. You ready?" They rose to their feet.

Hermione's heart began to flutter nervously in her chest. She took a deep breath and reached for the portkey, holding onto the spout. "As I'll ever be," she confirmed.

He gave her a reassuring smile. She looked up into his green eyes, finding comfort in the fact that she had her best and oldest friend at her side. He took her hand in his, and there was a rushing sound in their ears. The pull began, and Hermione closed her eyes and braced herself. It felt as if she was being swirled around through a tornado, wind roaring in her ears. The pull increased uncomfortably and the ground beneath her feet vanished. They were twisting around and around, and just when she thought she couldn't stand it any longer, they were abruptly landing on ground once more.

Harry was still holding her hand, and he steadied her as they landed on carpet.

"Hermione Granger," came a deep voice, full of wonderment. "I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes."

She cast her eyes about the room to see Kingsley Shacklebolt rising from his large mahogany desk.

"Hello, Minister," she greeted weakly.

He grinned and walked around the desk, his arms out wide and his brightly colored robes sweeping behind him.

He pulled Hermione into a hug and she laughed.

"It's so good to see you, Miss Granger." He pulled back to look at her, his dark brown eyes shining. "You look well. When Harry informed me that he found you, I almost didn't believe him! Leave it to Harry to achieve the impossible—that's what he seems to be good at."

Harry laughed, looking shy as he adjusted his glasses.

Kingsley shook his head. "Let's sit down and have some tea, shall we?" He motioned toward his desk, where three steaming cups of tea were waiting for them.

They all sat down and after a few questions, Hermione began summarizing the last few years of her life—how she hadn't planned moving away, where she worked and how she was living, and that she had reconnected with Draco. The minister listened with rapt attention, shaking his head disbelievingly when she revealed she was dating Malfoy.

"When I gave Mr. Potter permission to enter Malfoy's premises, I was expecting the worst. I'm very glad to hear the circumstances were…different than what we feared. I'm glad to hear that Draco is doing well and using his time and sentence wisely—very glad indeed."

"Minister," Hermione began as she set down her half empty cup of tea, "is it true that Draco's sentence was in part due to the fact that I was missing? Harry said it was, and that maybe you would be willing to lift or reduce his sentence seeing as I'm…alive and well."

Kingsley looked thoughtful, stroking his chin. "I could talk to the Chief Warlock and see what I can do. I think that might be a reasonable course of action."

Hermione's face lit up at the thought of Draco getting his magic back. "Thank you, Minister—really."

"Mr. Malfoy will have to meet with his handler, of course—there will need to be a final evaluation before we can alter his sentence."

"He's actually coming back to England at the end of this weekend," Hermione told him. "Or at least he might be planning to."

"Well, have him come see me when he gets here. We'll talk about our options." He rose from his seat, and Harry and Hermione followed suit. "I'm sure you're both eager to see your loved ones, so I won't keep you any longer." He reached out and shook their hands. "Very glad to see you, Miss Granger, very glad indeed," he said, clasping her hand between both of his. "Good work, Harry. I apologize for doubting you."

Harry shook his head. "No apologies necessary, Minister," he said with a chuckle.

"Keep in touch, Miss Granger," Kingsley said—but it sounded more like a question than a suggestion.

"I will," she promised with a nod.

"Very well, I expect I will be seeing the both of you around. You may use the floo whenever you're ready."

They mumbled their thanks and both walked to the rather large fireplace on the other side of the room.

Harry took a handful of floo powder and smiled at Hermione before announcing "Grimmauld place!" and disappearing into the green flames.

Hermione took a handful of floo powder next.

"Miss Granger?" Kingsley called.

She turned to attention.

"Good luck," he said with a wink.

She smiled again. "Thank you, Minister," she replied before stepping into the fireplace and vanishing in a roar of green flames.

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace at Grimmauld place, only to be tackled backwards by a flash of red hair. She caught herself before falling, but just barely.

"Hermione!" came Ginny's familiar voice. "Oh Hermione, I can't believe it! It's really you! You're alive! Merlin's pants, this is the happiest day of my life!" she laughed, sounding rather choked with emotion.

Hermione closed her eyes and hugged Ginny back tightly. "Ginny," she greeted, unable to hold back the tears. "I've missed you so much."

Ginny leaned back, holding tightly to Hermione's forearms. "Look at you!" she marveled, her brown eyes shiny with tears. She looked just like Hermione had remembered her. "You look amazing! Your hair looks great!"

They all laughed at that before Ginny pulled Hermione into a hug once more. Harry was watching them with pure joy on his face, looking very much as if Christmas would be coming early this year.

"I want to hear all about where the hell you've been for the last two years," she said.

"Guess it's time for more tea," Harry said before slipping out of the room, the kitchen door swinging closed behind him.

Ginny hugged her tightly for a few long moments, and a tear escaped Hermione's eye as dozens of emotions ran through her—relief, joy, guilt, sorrow...

"Ginny, I'm so sorry," she sniffed.

Ginny sighed, pulling back again to look Hermione in the eyes. "Good, I'm glad you're sorry. It means you won't ever do it again," she said sternly. "I thought I would never see you again! Harry—oh, he's been a mess. He hasn't been himself since you disappeared. I was so worried—we were all so worried…" she broke off, seeing Hermione's guilt-ridden expression as she cast her eyes ashamedly to the floor. She shook her head, sniffing and blinking away tears. "Alright, enough serious stuff. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. Just promise me you won't lose contact with us again, okay?"

Hermione nodded adamantly. "Promise," she whispered.

Ginny wiped at her now blotchy eyes and grinned before hooking her arm in Hermione's and leading her to the kitchen, throwing open the swinging door. "So you were living in France, huh?" She shook her head. "I never would have guessed. How have you been? What have you been up to? Harry wouldn't tell me anything!"

Hermione glanced at Harry, who was focused on pouring tea into three identical blue mugs. Her anxiety began to lessen as they sat at the long narrow table together. "Well…I…work in a bookshop."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm not surprised," she muttered.

"That's what I said," Harry added.

"Oh shut up, the both of you," Hermione laughed, feeling significantly more at ease. "And…I live in a flat just down the street from where I work, actually. It's very nice, very quiet. I've been…oh, it's been so lonely without you guys, really," she confessed, wiping her eyes.

Harry set the mugs down in front of them and put a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder. She reached up and touched his hand gratefully.

"Then why didn't you just come back?" Ginny asked. "Or write us?"

"I was afraid to; I felt too ashamed. I don't know, my actions didn't make a whole lot of sense. I had a quiet, uneventful life for the first time in ten years and I think I felt guilty for enjoying it so much. Does that make sense? I was ashamed for up and abandoning all of you—I couldn't bring myself to write a letter. Ginny, I had no idea you thought I was dead," she told her earnestly. "I swear I didn't. I knew you would probably be worried, but I just sort of pushed it to the back of my mind," she explained with a wince. "I had no idea how badly things had escaladed until Draco told me a few weeks ago. I was planning to—"

Ginny's red eyebrows pulled together and she frowned. "Draco?" she repeated with a shake of her head. "Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione's eyes widened before glancing over to Harry, who was leaning against the kitchen counter and watching her with a knowing smile.

"Yeah," he confirmed before clearing his throat. "About that—they're dating now."

Ginny stared at Harry for a few very long moments, and Hermione held her breath, waiting for the reaction. After a few seconds, Ginny scowled as if he had told a bad joke. "Oh shut up, Harry," she scoffed. "Seriously," she said, turning back to Hermione, "When and why did you run into Draco Malfoy? I heard he was in France, but what are the odds, am I right?"

Hermione could feel her cheeks warming under Ginny's gaze. She said nothing.

"I was being serious," Harry told her. "Draco is Hermione's _boyfriend_ now."

Ginny glanced at him before looking at Hermione for confirmation. "Are you…Is this true?"

Hermione bit her lip and nodded.

"_Draco Malfoy_? Blonde hair, blue eyes, former death eater, spoiled rich kid, went to Hogwarts with us?" she said, disbelieving. "_That_ Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione nodded once more.

"You're joking!" Ginny exclaimed, her brown eyes widening and her mouth turning up into a scandalized smile. "_You_ and _Draco Malfoy?"_

"That's what I said," Harry said again.

Hermione sighed and shrugged. "It kind of just…happened," she said as way of explanation.

Ginny began laughing hysterically. "No way," she chortled. "You and…" she dissolved into laughter again. "I don't believe it! You and _Malfoy,_ it's so ridiculous!"

"That's what I said," Harry mumbled into his mug of tea.

Hermione threw him an irritated scowl, but felt some of the tension in her shoulders dissolve at Ginny's reaction.

"It's…" Ginny laughed, shaking her head. "Merlin's beard, that's the most unexpected and ironic thing I've ever heard in my life!"

Hermione frowned. "How is it ironic?"

"Because you two _hated_ each other all through school!"

Harry snorted. "That's putting it lightly."

"He's changed a lot in the last few years, Gin," Hermione told her.

Ginny smiled in a patronizingly way that made it clear she doubted what Hermione was saying. "Right. I'll believe that when I see it. You and _Malfoy… _Wow. I can't picture the two of you interacting without punches flying."

Harry grunted. "You should see them when they fight—it's overwhelming."

"It is not!" Hermione defended. "And that was…it was a different circumstance—perfectly acceptable. I mean, sure, we debate things and we argue playfully once in a while, but it's not like…it's not like…"

Ginny tilted her head to the side. "It's not like when you and Ron used to argue, is it?"

"Worse," Harry muttered unhelpfully.

Hermione sighed, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm done with this conversation."

Harry and Ginny both laughed, and as frustrated as she was after being ganged up on by what was apparently now _Team Potter, _Hermione found herself smiling.

"You'll have to bring him over for dinner," Ginny concluded. "I have to see this with my own eyes."

Harry groaned and Hermione laughed at how well Harry seemed to be able to predict his wife's behavior.

"Speaking of which," Hermione said, "I need to write him…or call him. You don't happen to have a Muggle phone line here, do you?"

Ginny shook her head, looking perplexed at the question.

"Owl it is, then. Can I borrow some paper and an owl by chance?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Everything you need is in the study down the hall. I'll see if I can hunt down Octavia," he said, unfolding his arms and rising from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter.

Hermione put her mug of tea in the kitchen sink, hugged Ginny once more, then made her way down the hall towards the study.

As the door closed behind her, she heard Ginny say, "Did she just ask for a Muggle telephone to call a Malfoy?"

Her and Harry's conversation faded as she walked down the hall. For the first time, she took in her surroundings, and was amazed by how different Grimmauld Place looked now. The walls were all painted a cool blue color with white paneling. It was well lit and warm, and she was very pleased to see they had managed to somehow remove the shrieking portrait of Lady Black. The stairwell and wooden floors had been refinished and were now a deep dark oak color. The overall effect was very warm and welcoming. If she hadn't known where she was, she never would have guessed it was the same Grimmauld Place they had hidden out in during the war—there wasn't a trace of dust or dark magic to be seen.

She turned into the study beside the stairs and stepped into a warm room with several bookshelves lining the walls. She made her way to the study and sat down at the modest oak desk at the window. She had picked up a quill when there was a loud _pop_ and she jumped.

"Is Miss Granger needing anything?" came a gravely voice that made her smile.

"Hello Kreacher," she turned and greeted the elf. She beamed at the sight of him in a clean, white wrap of some kind. Gone was the dirty old pillow case, and he still wore Regulus Black's necklace around his neck. She eyed it uneasily, remembering all too well having to wear the horcrux that looked just like it. "How are you doing these days?"

Kreacher nodded slowly, as serious as he ever was. "Kreacher is doing fine these days. Master Potter is very pleased to have found Miss Granger," he said, his eyes shifting all around the room-looking anywhere but at her.

She sighed. "Yes, I'm pleased to be here. Thank you for checking on me, but I'm quite alright. I'm just writing a letter to Draco."

Kreacher's ancient and wrinkly features turned into a frown. "Draco of the house of Malfoy?" he asked slowly, his gaze on the floor.

Hermione nodded.

His face cleared and turned up into a smile—but it was such an unusual action that it looked like more of a leer. His face seemed unaccustomed to it. He made a satisfied humming sound to himself. "A powerful, strong family, the Malfoys," he croaked, sounding so pleased it was downright eerie.

"Err…yes… That they are," Hermione confirmed. "I think Draco will be coming over for dinner this weekend," she told him. "Did you know the Malfoys well?"

Kreacher nodded and bowed. "Yes…powerful bloodline…" He trailed off and they both stood there in awkward silence for a few moments. Unsure of what else to say, Hermione remained silent.

Then, without warning, Kreacher stood up straight, looking right over her shoulder. "Kreacher must go, Mistress Potter says to tell you dinner will be ready soon."

He disappeared, leaving Hermione with an expression of distaste on her face, feeling a bit disconcerted. Although she was glad that Kreacher hadn't said anything about tainted blood, or called her a mudblood, the poor thing was just as creepy as ever. She felt for the poor elf, and was glad Harry let him stay here in his home. He had lived in isolation for so long-she remembered how insane he had been during the war. It seemed that working at Hogwarts and living with Harry and Ginny had done him a fair amount of good.

She turned back to her parchment and quill.

_Draco,_

_I've arrived safely at Harry and Ginny's. I hope your day was alright—I miss you already. Try not to worry about me. I think I will obtain a mobile—you're right, it is 2004 after all—and I will call you tomorrow. My meeting with Kingsley went well, and he said he will speak to the Chief Warlock on your behalf. They might lift your sentence altogether! Wouldn't that be wonderful? I'll call you tomorrow once I obtain a mobile phone. _

_PS: Ginny took the news of you and me rather well, by the way. She wants to have you over for dinner this weekend. You are planning to come to England after you finish your business in Paris, aren't you? I hope you are…_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

She folded the parchment and charmed it to be weather-proof, just in case. Then she replaced the quill into its jar of ink and rose to re-join the Potters in the kitchen.

Across the English Channel, in Claremont, France, Draco Malfoy sat in his large leather chair in his study with a tumbler of whiskey as he scrambled to finish the work he had neglected to do all week long. He picked up the crystal glass and tipped it back to find it empty. His eyes caught on the bottle of Muggle whiskey sitting on across the room on the mantle. After a moment of contemplation, he shook his head and set the empty glass aside, turning back to his work.


	39. Six Year Olds and Mobiles

It felt very strange indeed to be sleeping upstairs in a guest room of Grimmauld Place. Hermione cast her eyes about the room as she lay in bed a few hours later, and marveled for the hundredth time since her arrival at how unrecognizable the flat was. The room Ginny had shown her to had once been unusable—despite Mrs. Weasley's many attempts to clean it out during the war. It had been in this very room that Ginny had found a number of small dead Puffeskins, and where Ron had encountered a rather large nest of spiders, as well as a few cursed objects—which had led to abandoning all attempts at cleaning out the room.

There was no trace of dark magic or dead creatures now—the room, like the rest of the house, was lovely. It had deep forest green walls (causing her to immediately think that Draco might like this room very much), a large iron-wrought bed, and mahogany furniture pieces—a dresser, vanity, and a desk. The curtains were sheer and cream-colored, drawn back and tied against the wall with gold rope. There was a painting on the furthest wall from the door of a lake that looked suspiciously like the one at Hogwarts, and the waves lapped over the shore in a soothing manner. Hermione swore she saw a tentacle pop out from the surface of the water a few times, but she could have imagined it. There was also a small bonsai tree on the vanity with blooming cherry blossoms, which Hermione found to be very charming.

Overall, the room was very cozy and well decorated—the entire house was. Ginny had given her a tour, beaming with pride whenever Hermione's jaw dropped at the dramatic makeover.

"We spent the entire summer before we were married fixing this place—well, I say_ we,_ but you know Harry. Mum helped considerably—and Angelina too. She's surprisingly good at interior decorating charms," Ginny had told her as they ascended the stairs. After Hermione had set her suitcase on her bed in the guest room, Ginny led her down the hall and past the bathroom.

"This is our room," she said, opening the white door at the end of the hall.

The room was light and relaxing—wooden floors with a cream carpet stretching out from both sides of the large white bed, honey oak vanity and dressers on either side of the bed, and a small fireplace. There was a picture of Harry and Ginny on the vanity, and a few items of clothing strung over the foot of the bed. A vase of flowers sat on the mantle, and a tall green plant sat in a ceramic vase in the corner.

"Upstairs we still have that old piano that you were so fond of," Ginny continued, leading her up the second flight of stairs. "And the last two bedrooms. Honestly, this place is so large. It's been kind of big and empty, but I imagine it won't be so bad once we have children. And of course it's good for housing visiting family and friends," she said with a warm smile.

They entered the first room, which had no door, and her eyes caught on the piano that sat up against the off-white colored wall. It looked just as old and worn as it had a few years ago, but now there was no dust or grime on its surface. She remembered trying to teach Ron how to play Fur Elise, and smiled at the memory. There was a burgundy colored couch, a massive fireplace, and paintings and pictures on every wall. Ginny showed her the last two bedrooms, which were blue and crimson, and just as beautiful as the rest of the house.

"I much prefer these pictures and paintings to the elves' heads that were mounted here before," Hermione told her as they descended the stairs after the tour was over.

Ginny winced. "That was the most morbid thing about this place, I think."

"How did you get Walberga Black's painting off the wall?" she asked. "I thought it had a permanent sticking charm to it."

Ginny grinned at that. "I burned it, actually,"

"You what?" Hermione asked, her eyes going wide.

The redhead nodded in confirmation. "We spent weeks putting silencio charms on that damned painting, but they always wore off and you remember how that woman could screech."

They both grimaced at the memory of Walberga's screams and rants about _mudbloods_ and _blood traitors._

"So eventually one day I just got so sick of it that I…set the painting on fire," Ginny confessed.

"But what about Walberga?" Hermione asked, mildly horrified.

"She has other paintings to go to. It didn't destroy her or anything. That wasn't the only painting of her. I'm not really sure where she is—but she fled from the painting once I set it on fire. Not before screaming at me about what a disgrace I was and calling me a blood traitor, of course."

Hermione chuckled as they reached her room.

"Harry came running, worried—he tried to stop me, but it solved our problem, so he couldn't really complain. We put the fire out before it could spread, but it still ruined the wall. Harry redid the wall with Muggle tools, and we painted over it. Now it's just a bare wall," she concluded with a proud grin.

"I don't think I ever would have thought of that," Hermione told her as they sat on her bed.

"Alright, so time for the good stuff," the redhead said, settling comfortably on the bed and crossing her legs indian-style.

Hermione smiled at the familiarity of the situation—Ginny used to do the same thing on their dorm beds at Hogwarts. "What good stuff?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know…about Draco!"

Hermione threw herself backwards onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know, he's been pretty wonderful, Gin. He took me to Paris for the weekend and it was very romantic."

"Did he get you this?" Ginny leaned over to pick up the sapphire pendant that hung around her neck.

"Yes."

"And the earrings?" Ginny smirked. "You'd think with all that Malfoy money, he'd get you something bigger."

Hermione laughed at that. "He knew if it was any bigger, I wouldn't wear it."

Ginny sat back up and shrugged. "That's true." She gathered her long red hair and pulled it over her right shoulder. "I just really can't believe you're dating him. It's so…"

"Unexpected?" she suggested.

"Crazy!"

"It's not… Well, maybe it does seem a bit crazy. I don't know, Gin, we just…click. Do you know what I mean?"

Ginny grinned. "I think I have at least some idea about what it is to _click,_ but I can't for the life of me picture you _clicking_ with Draco Malfoy."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You make it sound so dirty for some reason."

They laughed together.

Now as Hermione was in bed, and the house was dark, she was alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts seemed to be her worst enemy these days. She thought over the days her, Ron, and Harry had spent here during the war, after the war, and she thought of her life now. It was a peculiar feeling being back here with her situation as it was—almost surreal, somehow. She wondered at how she was going to merge her new life with her old one, and as anxiety began to set in, she decided she'd had enough. She rolled over and flipped on the small lamp on her bedside table before reaching for the book she had picked out from the study downstairs titled _Wanderings of a Tree in the Alps._ Refusing to think any longer, she settled in to reading. There was nothing a good book couldn't fix.

"I'm not surprised to find you here like this," came a voice that pulled her slowly from her slumber.

She opened her eyes groggily to see a pajama-clad Ginny standing over her bed, her arms folded, and a big smile on her face.

Hermione blinked incoherently. "Huh?"

Ginny reached down and picked up the book that was currently laying open on Hermione's chest.

"Fell asleep reading, did you? I'm glad to see that some things never change." She examined the book and rolled her eyes before closing it and setting it on the dresser with a chuckle. "Herbology? Really? Why would you choose to read a very boring Herbology book before bedtime? No wonder you fell asleep."

Hermione propped herself up on her elbow. "I found it to be very interesting," she said with a yawn. "I believe I got to the chapter about flesh-eating trees but I must have fallen asleep after that."

Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Flesh-eating trees?"

Hermione nodded and pulled the covers back. "Yes, they're located in the Amazon."

Ginny shook her head. "Neville gave me that book in fourth year, you know."

"It was a good choice. Have you read it?"

"No, I'm not a big fan of Herbology, although it was a sweet gift," Ginny said, shaking her head again. "I made breakfast—also Mum is coming over today."

All semblance of lethargy drained away and she sat up, suddenly alert. "Molly is coming over? When?"

Ginny's eyes widened. "Well don't panic about it! Merlin's beard, Mione, it's just my mum. If you don't want to see her yet, I can cancel. She's bringing Teddy over. Andromeda is going away for the weekend, so my mum has Teddy for the weekend."

Hermione's personal anxiety lessened at the thought of Teddy. "Teddy! So he's…well he's…" Her eyes widened as she did the math in her head. "He's six years old now, isn't he? Goodness!"

Ginny smiled affectionately, looking very much like her mother at that moment. "He is. He spends every other weekend with us, actually. He's beginning to favor blue hair for some reason."

"Blue hair!" Hermione exclaimed with a laugh.

"Harry and I usually take Teddy one or two weekends out of the month. It's good to get some practice with kids. Harry and I don't have much experience with small children," she laughed.

Hermione smiled. "I'm sure you and Harry will make excellent parents," she told her.

Ginny sighed. "Thanks, Mione. So…breakfast?" she suggested, raising her eyebrows.

Hermione nodded and rose from the bed. As they made their way to the stairs, she paused. "What time is your mum coming over?"

Ginny continued down the stairs. "Probably in an hour or two. Do you want to leave before she gets here?" She glanced back at Hermione. "I mean, it's only Mum. You've known her for over a decade, and you know she loves you like a second daughter."

Hermione did know this—Molly had treated her like family. When her parents were killed, Molly had really stepped in and tried her best to fill the role of her mother—even after she and Ron's relationship had ended. She cared very much for the woman, which was why she was so worried about seeing her.

"Do you not want to see her? You don't have to," Ginny said, pausing in her descent on the stairs.

Hermione's grip on the railing tightened. "I just…" She swallowed. "I feel especially bad about how my appearance might have affected her. She lost Fred in the war, and then she thought I was dead…"

Ginny nodded somberly. "All the more reason to let her know you're alive then, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded and began to follow Ginny down the stairs. "I'll stay," she decided, feeling very good about her decision. "Are you sure she won't have a heart attack when she sees me?"

Ginny threw a grin over her shoulder. "She'll be nothing but happy to see you—I promise."

Hermione spent an especially long time getting ready and making herself presentable after breakfast. She settled on a plain brown cardigan pullover and jeans, before sitting at the vanity to braid her hair. She normally found braiding her hair to be somewhat relaxing, but her nerves were shot and her hands were shaking too much to French braid successfully. After her third sloppy attempt, she sighed and picked up her wand, muttering an incantation that she had picked up from Parvati Patil during fourth year. As her hair began to quickly braid itself into a perfect French braid, she closed her eyes and counted her breaths. After twenty slow breaths, she headed downstairs to wait for Mrs. Weasley's arrival.

She sat in the drawing room outside the kitchen with Ginny, knowing Molly would arrive at any moment.

"I owled her letting her know to expect a surprise when she got here," Ginny had told her.

Hermione had rubbed her eyes and groaned. "She probably thinks you're going to announce you're pregnant or something—you realize that, right?"

Ginny's eyes had widened and she had whispered a soft _oh._

There was the faint sound of rushing flames from the kitchen, and Hermione's heart began to pound nervously.

"Ginevra dear?" Molly's voice rang out, and she heard Teddy grumble soon after.

Ginny squeezed Hermione's shoulder encouragingly before rising and walking to the kitchen.

"I'm not pregnant," she heard Ginny say as soon as the door closed behind her.

"Oh," she heard Molly's disappointed voice say.

"Hey there, Teddy. Come here! Look at your hair!"

Hermione rose from the couch and faced the door to the kitchen, contemplating whether or not it was too late to run away.

"Mum, there's somebody here that you'll want to see. She's been gone a very long time. She's in the drawing room," came Ginny's muffled voice.

"You have company? But who, dear?" There was a very long pause. "Surely, you don't mean…"

Hermione braced herself as the door swung open and Mrs. Weasley appeared in the doorway with wide eyes. Her jaw dropped when she saw Hermione, and her chin began to quiver. She reached up and covered her mouth. _"Hermione!"_ she finally exclaimed, sounding very choked up, as she rushed towards her and pulled her into a hug. "Oh, Merlin's beard, I don't believe it!" She pulled back and took Hermione's face in her hands. "Oh, sweet girl, I am so happy to see you," she said, tears pooling over and falling down her face. "Oh!" she exclaimed again, hugging Hermione tightly once more.

Hermione held onto Molly tightly as well, breathing in the comforting smell of cinnamon and cotton. She smiled into Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, feeling an intense relief and joy at seeing the mother-figure once more.

Mrs. Weasley pulled back again, her eyes running over Hermione in a concerned way. "Let me get a look at you," she sniffed. "Oh, you look beautiful. But you're so skinny! Are you quite alright? Where have you been?"

Hermione laughed. "I was living in France," she began. "Just a small town. I went back to my Muggle roots, I was just living in Muggle France, really. I'm so sorry I didn't write, I was overwhelmed, I just—"

"It's alright dear, it's alright!" Molly laughed. "I'm just so glad you're alive and well! Oh, Ginny," she said, turning to her youngest child, "how could you not tell me? What a cruel prank to pull on your mother! How long have you been back?"

Ginny was wearing a huge smile as she stood behind her with a green-haired Teddy—who was watching them and looking very confused. "She just got in last night. Harry found her a few days ago, they came back to England as soon as they could."

Mrs. Weasley took Hermione's cheeks in her hands, brushing back a stray curl from her face. "I'm so happy," she sniffed. "Oh, I'm just so happy!" She pulled Hermione into another hug and they laughed through tears.

"So Ronald doesn't know yet?" Mrs. Weasley asked some time later over a cup of tea. All three women were sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea before them while Teddy had gone to the drawing room with his toys. Hermione couldn't believe how big Teddy was, and he had warmed up to her almost immediately—reveling in the fact that there was someone new he could surprise and show off his ever changing hair color for. Hermione gasped as his hair turned a bright orange and he grinned proudly, a gaping hole where his top front tooth had fallen out.

Ginny shook her head. "Whenever Hermione is ready for us to have him over, we'll tell him."

"You have to tell him immediately!" Molly exclaimed. "He'll be overjoyed to see you again, and he'll be so cross if we keep it from him for any length of time."

Ginny snorted into her tea. "He does have a temper."

Hermione grasped her hands together on her lap. "Well, I suppose we could have him over tonight after he and Harry are off work."

Ginny perked up. "Harry could bring him over under the pretense of having dinner! I'll go owl Harry." She stood up from the table, the bench scraping against the floor in the process. She rushed from the room and silence descended once more.

"So dear," Molly began tenderly. "How are you feeling? How have you been doing?"

Hermione sighed. "I'm doing alright. I just feel guilty for disappearing the way I did. That's why I came back—to apologize and make it right."

The older woman smiled warmly. "We feared the worst—we thought we had lost you," she said quietly. "It felt like I'd lost another one of my children."

Hermione ducked her head in shame, but Molly reached out and placed her hand over hers.

"This is the happiest I've been in a long time," she told Hermione. "You're so important to all of us. It'll be wonderful to be all together once more."

Just then, Teddy came running into the kitchen.

"And this one here!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, catching Teddy as he bounded into her arms.

"Where's Harry?" Teddy asked, squirming in Molly's hold. "I thought we were going to play with Harry today!"

"You will play with Harry—later, because right now he is working." Mrs. Weasley looked up at Hermione and smiled. "Why don't you go show Hermione your favorite books in the study. I'm willing to bet she'd be very interested in seeing that book your Uncle Bill sent you about dragons."

Teddy's eyes widened as he looked at Hermione. "You like dragons?" he asked.

Hermione couldn't resist the broad smile that lit up her face. "I do indeed—very fascinating, dragons. Do you know much about them?" she asked.

Teddy rose from Mrs. Weasley's lap. "Uncle Bill gave me this book for my birthday, and it tells all about dragons."

Hermione rose from the table, following Teddy out the kitchen door. "Do you like books?"

The six year old flashed her a toothy grin—minus the gap—and his hair glowed for a moment. "Yeah, they're my favorite thing. I'm learning to read on my own, you know."

She felt a sense of pride rise up within her. "Good. Reading is probably the best pastime there is."

Teddy's hair turned blue. "Can we pick out a book and you'll read it to me? I can't read very good on my own yet."

"Very well," she corrected, turning the corner in the hallway.

"Huh?"

"You can't read very _well_ on your own yet."

Teddy rolled his eyes in a way that reminded her so much of Tonks, it all but broke her heart. "Did you just roll your eyes at me, young man?" she asked, bending down to tickle him.

"No!" he protested, laughing hysterically and trying in vain to run away from her.

They had read about three books—one about dragons, a Muggle book about deep ocean creatures, and they were flipping through large encyclopedia of animals (Teddy was very excited about the pictures) when Ginny entered the study.

"You have a package," she said, holding out a medium sized brown box, which Hermione accepted with both hands. "Also, Harry just fire-called—"

"Is Harry coming home soon?" Teddy interrupted, rising to his feet excitedly.

Ginny ruffled his blue hair. "Not yet, baby. He'll be home tonight though, don't you worry."

Teddy's nose scrunched up in disgust. "I'm not a baby," he muttered, his hair turning a darker shade of blue.

Ginny smirked and pulled him into a hug, kissing his cheek loudly (to which he made a disgusted _yuck!)_ and laughed. "You're a baby to me," she said, picking him up and swinging him around.

Hermione laughed as she watched the raucous that unfolded—Ginny was, unsurprisingly, very good with Teddy.

Finally Ginny set Teddy back down on the ground (his hair was a bright orange now and he looked very much like a highlighter) and wrapped her arms around him. "I think Aunt Molly made cookies," she whispered. "I bet if you're really quiet, you can go snatch one off the counter before she notices."

Teddy gave a sly grin, then looked up at Ginny conspiratorially. "I bet I could snatch three before she notices. One for you and Heminny, too."

Ginny dissolved into giggles, and Hermione covered her mouth to keep from laughing.

"It's Hermione, Ted," Ginny corrected. "But most of the time we just call her Mione anyway."

Teddy rolled his eyes. "Aunt Ginny, do you want a cookie or not?"

At this, Hermione laughed out loud, unable to hold back any longer.

Ginny playfully spanked Teddy and he ran off in the direction of the kitchen. "What a stinker," she sighed.

"Well he's definitely Nymphadora's son," Hermione marveled.

"Yes he is," Ginny laughed. "Anyway, like I was saying—Harry fire-called me to say that Ron is out of town on business for the next three days."

Hermione frowned as both relief and disappointment coursed through her—she couldn't decide which she felt more. "Auror business?"

She nodded, perching on the sofa chair beside Hermione. "Yes, he's all the way in Bulgaria, although I'm not sure why. Harry didn't say. So it looks like you'll be getting quite a bit of prep time before we drop the bomb on him."

Hermione threw her a displeased look. "Do you have to word it that way?" she said, exasperatedly.

Ginny shrugged one shoulder. "Sorry. Anyway, what's in the box? That arrived for you a few minutes ago."

Hermione turned to the box in her lap and began to unwrap it. As she tore away the brown paper wrapping, her eyebrows rose and she smiled. "Of course he did," she muttered, realizing Draco was the one who sent this package.

"What?" Ginny asked, reaching for the box and holding it out. "What the bloody hell is this Muggle contraption?"

Hermione smiled, taking the box back and opening it. Inside was a crimson red Razer mobile phone. "It's a Muggle phone." She opened it and pushed the on button. The screen brightened and came to life. "You use it to call someone."

"But it's so small!" Ginny marveled. "Where is the cord to connect it to the wall? Our house isn't set up to have a Muggle telephone."

"It's portable, it doesn't need cords," Hermione explained. "I hope this will work here. We are near Muggle London, after all…"

As the main menu popped up, the phone alarm began to beep. The alarm window opened and it read _Call Draco._ Hermione laughed.

"Draco sent you this?" Ginny marveled.

She nodded. "He's been nagging me to get one of these for ages. I finally agreed to get one, but it seems he's taken care of it for me. I should probably call him and say hello."

Ginny shook her head and started for the door. "Alright, I'll leave you to it. I was going to play exploding snap with Teddy if you want to join us later. Also, would you like to have dinner at the Burrow tonight? Seeing as Ron is out of town?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that would be lovely." She scrolled through the contacts, and sure enough, there was one number already entered in there—_Draco Malfoy._

Shaking her head affectionately, she pushed the green talk button and brought the phone to her ear.


	40. Conversations

**I am feeling much better today-finally. No debilitating coughing fits followed by a crippling asthma attack in two days! Hooray! And my son is running around like he was never sick at all. Kids, amirite?**

**Thank you so much for the kind wishes and words of encouragement! It's been kind of awkward trying to get back into the flow of the story, but I'm getting back into the swing of things. I have grand plans for Ronald Weasley. Drama and hilarity shall ensue!**

The phone rang three times, and Hermione could feel the familiar butterflies in her stomach—a happy reprieve to the anxiety that had been knotting within her stomach over the last 72 hours.

_"Restaurant de Draco, are you calling to make a reservation?"_ came the Slytherin's dramatic greeting in French.

Hermione laughed heartily. _"I was calling to inquire about some mixed reviews I've heard lately. I've heard mostly good things, but there was a rumor of burned food in the kitchen, and menu items from another restaurant being passed off as your own... I was hoping you could clear this up for me."_

"Ha ha, Granger."

She leaned back into her chair, smiling widely.

"So you like the phone then?" he drawled.

"Need you even ask? Yes, I like it. Very interesting choice of color, by the way. Thank you."

"Oh, it was what the shop girl handed to me. I would never encourage you to surround yourself with Gryffindor colors. _Please,"_ he said, sounding so nonchalant that she almost believed him. But Draco Malfoy was a purposeful man, and he calculated every decision he ever made. Not only that, but he seemed to feel the need to downplay any display of effort in order to seem aloof and cool. Affection blossomed within her chest at his words and she grinned even wider, seeing right through them.

"Well thank you. It's lovely—truly."

"So you don't sound incredibly distraught, which must mean your return is going well."

She heard the fluttering of papers in the background, and pictured him sitting at his large desk, pouring over his work.

"So far, so good," she said with a sigh. "I saw Teddy today—he's _six_ already, and so much like his mother."

"Andromeda's grandson?"

She hummed in confirmation.

"And how is my second cousin, once removed, doing?"

Hermione startled at the realization that Draco was in fact, Teddy's family. "Why did I never realize you two were related? I mean, of course you are, but for some reason I never stopped to think about it. Wow. Well, he's just like his mother," she said with a laugh. "Ever-changing hair color and more snark than I've witnessed in anyone but you."

"Ah, it must be a family trait. Changing hair color? So he's like Nymphadora then?"

"Yes, he's a Metamorphmagus."

"What about…" He cleared his throat. "Any wolfish tendencies so far?"

"No, he shows no symptoms of Lycanthropy. They tested him thoroughly after he was born, but every test was negative."

"That's fortunate for him, then. So what color was his hair today?"

"It started off green, but he went through orange and blue as well- there was a moment when he got excited and his hair _glowed._ It was very fascinating."

"And he's only six? That's pretty impressive. But I can't say I'm surprised. Black family blood has strong magic."

She snorted. "That's not a biased opinion at all, I'm sure. I bet Teddy would love to show you all his hair color tricks when you get here." Draco responded with silence, and Hermione adjusted nervously in her seat. "Are you still going to Paris this weekend?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

"…I am. I leave in a few hours."

"Are you flying or taking a street trip?" she teased.

He sighed. "Granger, that was a very easy mistake to make, alright? I'll have you know that I am still relatively new to Muggle phrases—"

Hermione laughed, unable to help herself.

"—and I would appreciate at least _some_ credit for knowing anything about the phrase at all. To answer your question, I'm flying. I was planning on catching a flight to Paris this evening, and after my last meeting on Sunday morning, I was going to catch another flight back to England."

"Alright," she said, "I'll give you credit where credit is due. I wouldn't want to insult your—wait, did you say England?" She sat up excitedly.

"I did," he grumbled.

"You're going to come home?"

"I just said I was, didn't I?" he responded, sounding less than enthused.

She tried to taper her excitement and simply sighed. "Thank you, Draco. That means a lot to me."

"I haven't been back to England since I came to France. It's about time I visit my mother anyway. Merlin knows she bugs me about it often enough…"

"Well I'm sure she'll be ecstatic that you're visiting. And then you can meet with Kingsley, and—oh you're mother will be overjoyed if they clear you, won't she?"

"Indubitably."

She moved the phone to her other ear, biting her lip nervously. "Have you thought about Ginny's offer for dinner?"

He sighed darkly. "Granger, this is kind of a lot at once, if I'm going to be honest."

She immediately deflated, but nodded understandingly. "Of course. Sorry. That's fine." She absently fingered the end of her braid, reminding herself that Draco had his own past haunting him, his own obstacles to overcome. She shouldn't be asking him to jump over too many hurdles at once when everyone in her life was allowing her to face her own hurdles at whatever pace she felt comfortable with.

He sighed again, and she knew he was pushing his hair back in that way he did when he was strung out.

"It's okay," she told him. "I didn't mean to hassle you about it, and I understand. It really is fine. We have all the time in the world to…" she broke off with a nervous laugh. "Anyway. I miss you already. Is that ridiculous or what? I saw you twenty four hours ago."

"I missed you before I even got back in my car after dropping you off," he told her in a soft tone.

She instantly warmed at his words. "Really?"

"Granger, please don't make me say it twice."

She laughed again. "Alright, alright, I will let your pride remain intact for now."

"Good, then I won't need to seek retribution in public places," he teased.

"I'm still mad at you for that, by the way."

"Sure you are, Granger." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm glad you're coming up here," she told him. "I really am. Thank you for doing it."

He hummed. "Anything for you, silly little girl."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, enough of that. I should probably get back to visiting with Mrs. Weasley. Call me tonight if you have any down time?"

"I'm counting down the hours already," he purred.

"Stop that," she admonished half-heartedly. "Have a safe trip. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay."

"I love you, Draco," she said. And with that, she hung up before he could sputter an uncomfortable response. She snapped the phone shut and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans as she rose to exit the study. She slid the already ajar door open, to find Ginny standing there on the other side, her brown eyes wide.

"Did I really just hear what I think I did?" she said.

Hermione felt herself blush profusely. "Were you eavesdropping that whole time?" she exclaimed, feeling equal parts anger and humiliation.

"Um _yeah_ I was! You just told Malfoy you loved him! You guys aren't _dating, _you're in love!" she shrieked.

_Curse Ginny and her nosy tendencies!_ Hermione was at loss for words, and she merely stuttered "…So?" before storming past Ginny down the narrow hallway.

"Hey," Ginny said softly as she reached out for Hermione's arm. "Don't be upset that he's not coming to dinner."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I'm not," she denied.

Ginny held onto her arm firmly, preventing her from advancing any further towards the kitchen. "I mean it, Mione. It doesn't mean he cares for you any less. I mean, would you want to go to a dinner with _his_ family this weekend?"

Hermione relented, her stubborn expression falling. "No," she answered softly. Fear gripped her at the mere _thought_ of hypothetical dinner with Mrs. Malfoy.

The redheaded girl smiled encouragingly. "Just give him time. I'm your best friend, Mione. One of them, anyway," she laughed. "And while I trust your judgment—of course I do, how could I not?—and I will support you in your relationship with Draco, but nothing about this is going to be easy."

"I know that," Hermione sighed.

"I know you do. But I'm just reminding you. Whatever you and Draco have built while away in France—it's going to be tested over the next few months, at the very least. The world will eventually find out you're back and they're not going to take kindly to a Malfoy in your presence. They're going to be nasty, and it's going to be discouraging."

"Do you think I haven't realized that?" she replied, feeling herself sink into that familiar state of stress once more.

"I'm just saying that you need to give him some time. You say he's changed, and I think he must have changed because you're in bloody _love_ with him—" Her eyes bugged as she said it before softening again. "But facing this family is an intimidating feat that would require courage few possess, and Draco is going to need some time to adjust into your life."

"He doesn't have to adjust to my life," Hermione protested.

She smiled kindly. "That's sweet of you to say that, but you're wrong. You're Hermione Granger—adjusting into your life isn't optional, it's reality. Just like you'll have to adjust into his. That's how relationships work."

Hermione nodded, thinking on her friend's words.

Ginny shrugged. "Just give him time, and try not to be discouraged if he moves slowly."

"Thanks, Gin."

"So tell me something—I'm just dying to know."

Hermione frowned curiously. "What?"

Ginny grinned. "Is he good in bed? Because I heard rumors back at Hogwarts—"

Hermione rolled her eyes, realizing the heavy talk was over. "Gods above, Ginny," she muttered before turning away towards the kitchen.

"That good?" Ginny teased, following closely behind and cackling all the way.

Draco Malfoy couldn't focus today. He had a long list of things to get done before he left for Paris this afternoon and even thought it was only barely eleven in the morning, he was already behind. He was trying to focus on the tasks at hand—namely, the business he was supposed to be catching up on after a fairly unproductive week (getting your ass kicked repeatedly by various employees of the Ministry will do that to you) and the work he hadn't even started for this coming weekend.

All he could think about was the preparations he needed to make for his trip back to London. His stomach rolled at the mere thought.

It was times like this he felt like kicking himself for refusing to hire a personal assistant. Oh, how a personal assistant would come in handy at times like these. But Draco was a prideful man, and he was insistent on handling all business and personal matters himself.

He had finally finished editing the changes in his most recent business contract when his phone rang. Reaching in the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled it out and grinned. The name _Hermione Granger_ flashed brightly across the screen. He flipped the phone open and brought it to his ear.

_"Restaurant de Draco, are you calling to make a reservation?"_

She teased him mercilessly—as she always did—and he enjoyed every second of it—as he always did. When she commented on the particularly Gryffindor color of her newly purchased phone, he played it off as chance. The truth was, he had picked the color on purpose, just for her. He did many things for that blasted woman that would have made the Malfoy he was four years ago nauseous. The haughty little voice in the back of his head constantly sought to rebel on a daily basis, but perhaps that was why he was so enchanted with the girl in the first place. She brought out a different side of him, a side he liked, a side no one else saw—one he didn't even know had existed until recently.

But when she mentioned dinner at the Potters, the niggling fear and doubt set in, and he declined. He told himself it wasn't because he was afraid. He definitely wasn't afraid of Potter (unless he blew the front door in, storming in with his wand blazing, that crazed and determined look in his eyes), and the Potterette was harmless (although he had heard about a certain Bogey charm that he would rather not experience first hand). But the truth was, he did feel a certain amount of fear in that situation. Fear that he wouldn't be good enough, and that he would ruin it all.

Ignoring the poorly masked disappointment in Hermione's voice was a futile attempt, and guilt ate away at the lining of his stomach for hours after their phone call was over.

He stared at the piles of business contracts and deals sitting across his desk, and sighed. His eyes caught on the bottle of Whiskey across the room, and he let out a groan, pushing his hair back away from his face. He opened his drawer and retrieved a blank length of parchment. If he was going to England this weekend, he definitely needed to inform his mother in advance. He could stop by the owlery on his way to the airport today.

He paused in the middle of composing the letter, pondering at whether or not he should mention the possibility of his sentence being lifted. He dared not even hope for such an outcome. If he allowed himself to hope, the disappointment would only hurt that much more. But the thought that he could be getting his magic back as soon as this time next week…

His fingers twitched at the thought. That familiar and horrible, haunting itch returned—the itch to perform magic. It was a phantom limb kind of feeling—an instinct to take an action he was no longer capable of doing. If he lingered too long on the desire, it would eat him up inside until it manifested as physical pain in his joints. He had learned long ago to ignore the sensation of being unable to unleash the magic coiled tightly within him. At first the sensation had been terrible and overwhelming. With all the anger he felt after being wrongly sentenced, the sensation had heightened. His anger had swirled around and around within him, begging to be unleashed. His nerves had sparked and wanted to spit fire, shoot lightning, boil over—but instead he could do nothing. His magic was bound painfully within his core, burning and burning until he felt there was nothing left. It was enough to drive a man mad—and it had, many a time.

Binding a witch or wizard's magic was a desperate act and was rarely exercised by the Ministry for long periods of time. Two, Five, Six years were the longest sentences they would typically give. Any period of time longer than that would take a heavy and irreversible cost on the individual's health and sanity.

Draco rolled his shoulders, ignoring the enticing song sung by the large bottle of alcohol across the room. Why had he even purchased another bottle in the first place? Now it was taunting him.

His elbows began to ache, and he knew he had lingered too long on the subject of his bound magic. The pain was back. His core warmed to an uncomfortable degree, his magic begging to be released, and the joints in his hands and arms protested.

He rose from his desk, promising he would have just one—just one little drink. After all, he hadn't had a single drink today so far. What was one glass?

He quickly poured himself a tall glass of Muggle whiskey and shot it back at a pace that made his head spin. His thoughts slowed ever so slightly and the pain receded until the screaming inside him was nothing but a dull whisper.

Satisfied, he sat back down at his desk and returned to his work.

He never remembered to finish the letter.

**Wow that ended kind of dark and depressing... Sorry guys, I didn't mean for that to happen. Poor Draco!**


	41. Toasts and Bets

**Shout out to Shealone for all her genius ideas and helpful reviews! Thank you very much for all your input!**

**This story is starting to take over my life. Every time I hear a song, I'm like omg that is so about my otp. This is so Dramione. A few weeks ago, I was listening to "Night Like This" by LP and I became obsessed. Now I listen to it every time I start writing a new chapter. Go look it up and give it a listen! It's so catchy and joyous sounding. Then imagine it playing in the background during Dramione scenes. MAGICAL! Maybe I'll make a Dramione playlist... I have a problem. Send help.**

**Back to the story:**

Dinner at the Burrow went smoothly. Mr. Weasley was his usual enthusiastic overjoyed self when he arrived home and Hermione was in the living room.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, his blue eyes widening. Harry and Ginny stood by, wearing excited smiles on their faces. "Merlin's beard, is it really you? What… what… by the power's above!" He approached her with his arms open wide. "You're alive! I knew it, I knew you were a tough girl, I knew you'd be alright!" He pulled her into a tight hug. "You look well! My…" he broke off with a relieved laugh before turning to Harry. "You found her!" His eyes sparkled and he smiled proudly before pulling Harry into a hug as well. "This calls for a celebration! Molly! I'm getting out the fire whiskey!" he called into the kitchen. "Why isn't Ron here? I can't believe he would go away at a time like this!"

Hermione was seized with panic. "Arthur, he doesn't know yet."

His mouth formed a soft _oh_. "He doesn't…oh. Well he's sure in for a surprise when he gets home then, isn't he?" He clapped Hermione on the shoulder, looking around the room with a broad grin. "I won't say a word, don't worry. I'll let you guys be the ones to tell him. Until then…" He walked over to the cabinet in the corner and pulled out a bottle of Fire Whiskey. "Harry, my boy—will you go grab us some glasses from the kitchen?"

"Yes sir," Harry said, exiting the room.

"Where were you living then?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"France," Hermione explained. "Muggle France, in a small town called Claremont. I… I didn't know I was presumed dead until very recently. I'm so sorry."

Mr. Weasley just smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "It's quite alright, dear girl. You're safe and we're all together again, that's what matters! Ah, Harry! Thank you!"

Harry re-entered the room with four glass tumblers floating behind him. They landed softly on the coffee table, and Mr. Weasley unscrewed the lid of fire whiskey before pouring them each a modest amount of alcohol.

"Molly dear!" he called.

Mrs. Weasley came around the corner a moment later. "Dinner is almost ready," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Are we having a toast?" she asked.

"Indeed we are, dear." He leaned over and kissed her cheek before handing her a glass. Then he turned to address the rest of the group. "To family, and being together once more."

"Cheers," they all responded.

Hermione downed her glass with a grimace. "Ugh," she muttered, wiping her mouth.

Ginny shot her drink back like a champ and Hermione eyed her with raised eyebrows before smiling. The alcohol warmed her from the inside out, and she heaved a great sigh, feeling more peace than she had experienced in years.

They were about to sit down for dinner when there was a rush of flames from the fireplace.

Hermione immediately looked up at Harry with wide eyes, panic seeping through the happy little buzz she was feeling from the fire whiskey.

"Mum!" came a voice she recognized. "I was able to close up shop early after all."

"George! In the kitchen, dear!" she called, setting down a platter of food on the table.

Ginny, Harry and Hermione only had time to exchange nervous looks before George rounded the corner and entered the room.

"I owled Angelina, she said she would come over too, but she's running late and…" He trailed off as soon as his eyes found Hermione and he froze, paling considerably. "Mione?" he croaked.

She smiled nervously. "Hello, George."

George blinked, not taking his eyes off her. "Harry found you."

Harry nodded. "On Wednesday, yeah."

The twin blinked once more before a giant grin crawled up his face. "Mione!" He ran forward and swept her up into his arms, lifting her off her feet and twirling her around in a circle. "I knew that bloody maniac hadn't gotten to you! They couldn't have gotten the most brilliant witch in the world, could they have!"

"George!" she squealed as he spun her around and around.

Mrs. Weasley watched them with bright eyes and a content smile on her face. "Oh for goodness sake, George. Put the poor girl down!" she admonished lightly.

George set her back down on her feet and held her hand up, twirling her around in a circle. "Look at you! You're even more grown up than the last time I saw you."

She looked up at George and was pleased to see that there was far more life in his eyes than there had been when she left for France. "It's good to see you, George. And you're looking awfully grown up yourself," she laughed.

George straightened and adjusted the purple suit he was wearing. "Why thank you, Miss Granger. Just came straight from the shop," he explained. "Got to look fresh if I want to be a successful businessman." He adjusted the lapels of his suit and winked at her.

She shook her head, happy to see George acting more like his old self for the first time since Fred's death. The last time she had seen him, he was a ghost of his old self, completely destroyed by the loss of his twin. Ginny had told her they all expected George and Angelina to announce an engagement any day now, and Hermione was glad that someone had been able to pull George back from the brink of his sorrow.

She suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of joy. She looked around the room, full of people she loved. "I'm so happy to be back," she said.

"We're glad you're back too," Ginny said. Harry put his arm around her and grinned.

Teddy was the only one sitting at the table, and he looked around at the adults in the room before frowning. "Are we going to eat dinner now or what?" he asked.

Later that evening, after a wonderful and filling dinner, Hermione flooed back to Grimmauld Place with Ginny and Harry.

"I think you're right about Angelina and George," Hermione commented as she stepped out of the fireplace and into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. "I've never seen two people so in love."

"That's what I'm saying!" Ginny replied. "I don't know what they're waiting for. She's been friends with Fred and George since they were third years. I reckon she knows George better than anyone."

"He looks much happier than he did last time I saw him," she added.

"Yes, he does," Ginny agreed. "It's good to see him smile again. For a while, I was afraid he'd never smile again."

"And he's back in the Joke Shop?" she asked.

"It took him a while until he was able to go back," Harry informed her. "It's pretty recent, actually. He's only been there regularly for...what? A year?" he asked Ginny. She nodded in confirmation.

"Well, I'm very happy for him," Hermione concluded.

"So, what do you guys want to do tomorrow?" Harry asked them.

"I have practice tomorrow afternoon," Ginny reminded him.

"I'd very much like to see you play," Hermione said.

Harry grinned. "Then we'll go to her practice. How would you feel about that, Gin?"

Ginny smiled and shrugged. "You're welcome to attend. Harry loves watching our practices, but I know you're not much of a Quidditch fan."

Hermione shook her head. "This is different! You're my friend. I'd love to see you play. Besides, I used to go to your games all the time when you first signed with the Harpies."

Ginny snorted as they began walking down the hallway. "By all the time, you mean once or twice, right?"

The brunette blushed. "I was very busy with my training," she mumbled. "But you can't say I didn't support you!"

"There might be press there," Harry warned her.

She paled at the thought of facing the press this weekend. She wasn't ready for that—it would be especially disastrous if it led to Ron catching wind of her being home before she was able to tell him herself.

"No, I can have all press removed beforehand if they try to show up," Ginny reassured her. "Don't worry about it. It's a private practice anyway, they can't get in without permission. But speaking of your training," she said as they began ascending the stairs, "do you have any plans to go back into Healing?"

Hermione sighed. "Is it terrible if I say I don't quite have any plans for the near future right now?"

Harry laughed. "I think I'm more surprised by that statement than by the fact that you're dating Malfoy."

Ginny elbowed him. "Don't lie."

"Alright, it's a tie," he concluded. "I'm equally surprised by both."

"Oh, come off it, you two."

They arrived at the top of the stairs and Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "I think I'd like to go back to Healing, if I'm going to be honest. It'd be far more challenging and rewarding than my current job. But I haven't looked into how my training would translate over to France's Healing statutes."

Ginny frowned and tilted her head to the side. "France? Why does it…" Her eyes widened. "Wait, you're going back?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Of course I'm going back. My life is there."

The younger woman made a sound of disbelief. "Your life is in _France?"_ She looked at Harry as if seeking support. He swallowed and avoided her eyes, obviously not wanting to get involved in this particular conversation. She turned back to Hermione. "Hermione, your life is here! What are you talking about?"

She grew increasingly uneasy. "Gin, I'm…I'm not ready to come back. I don't want to come back…permanently."

The redhead fumed. "So you're just going to leave again? Go back to living your life across the channel…with…with Draco? Really?"

Hermione retreated slightly. "Ginny, I… I'm not going to abandon you guys. Not…not again. It won't be like it was before this. I promised you I would stay in touch, and I meant it. I can't just… I can't just leave my life behind in the blink of an eye."

Ginny huffed. "Why not? It's not like you haven't done it before." And with that, she turned and stormed down the hall and into her and Harry's bedroom.

Hermione stared after her, hurt seeping through the state of shock she was in. She turned to Harry. "What just… What just happened?"

Harry rubbed at his forehead with the back of his thumb. "It seems Ginny assumed you were here to stay."

"You didn't tell her I was only visiting?"

"Well it's not as if I had time to. Everything happened so quickly…"

Hermione nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. "I've never been on the receiving end of Ginny's temper before," she mumbled.

Harry offered her a half smile. "Wish I could say the same. Trust me—that was nothing. You okay?"

She shrugged.

"She'll come round," he assured her. "She was just…caught of guard, I think. She missed you just as much as I did, you know."

Hermione nodded. "I…I'm feeling tired, I think I'd like to go to bed."

Harry pulled her into a hug. "If I know Ginny, she'll be in your room bright and early with a peace offering of flapjacks."

She tried to smile, but couldn't bring herself to do it convincingly. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Hey," he said, stopping her mid-turn. "It's okay not to know what you want. I think you've known what you wanted for most of your life, but it can't always be like that. It's alright to take some time and just…figure out your life, you know? Don't…don't beat yourself up about it. Okay?"

This time she was able to offer him a small smile. "Thanks, Harry."

"Night," he said before turning to follow in the direction Ginny had stormed off.

"Goodnight," she called after him.

She closed the bedroom door behind her with a sigh and flopped onto the bed. Her mobile chirped from where it sat on her bedside table. She reached over to retrieve it. She had a missed call from Draco. She pressed the talk button to dial him back and brought the phone to her ear.

"Hey there, beautiful," he greeted.

She smiled in spite of how terrible she felt inside. "Hey," she replied softly.

"…Well that's not a good sounding _hey_. What happened?"

She heaved a deep sigh. "Ginny and I had a bit of a row."

"I thought Ginny was taking all of this very well?"

"Apparently she assumed I was here in Britain to stay. She became very upset when I mentioned returning to France."

"Ah, I see. Well I'm sure she'll get over it."

"I know, it just…it made me feel…"

"You're not going to spend the remainder of the night stewing, are you? Because if that's the plan, then I'll need to remain on the phone with you until you fall asleep."

She chuckled. "Well aren't you the sweet one."

"Definitely not," he denied. "Malfoys aren't sweet."

She gave a full-blown laugh at that before returning somberly to the topic at hand. "She asked me if I wanted to go back into healing."

"I think that'd be a great idea—if you want to do it. Although you make a superb literary authority, I'm sure you would be better suited in a more challenging profession."

"I agree."

"Perfect. So why do you sound so hesitant?"

"I'm…I'm not. I just…" She paused and rubbed her face, growing increasingly frustrated. "I don't know what to do right now. I feel like I'm living two lives at the moment."

He was silent at that.

She could practically feel his uncertainty through the phone. "It's not easy to reconcile my past with my present, Draco—that's all I'm saying."

"I understand."

She rose from the bed and began going about her bedtime routine. "How was your day?"

"It was…it was fine," he said with a sigh. "I arrived safely in Paris."

"Are you staying at the _Montalembert_ hotel again?"

"No, I'm at _Le Littre_ this time," he said with a smile in his voice. "I wish you were here with me. There are so many good surfaces in here we could be defacing right now."

Hermione shook her head as she grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste and made her way to the bathroom down the hall. "You're incorrigible."

"Yes, I am," he agreed before groaning. "I have so much to do tomorrow, so many meetings. What are you doing tomorrow?"

She closed the bathroom door softly behind her. "I'm going to see Ginny's practice tomorrow. She plays for the Holyhead Harpies."

"Yes, I heard. I also heard she's retiring soon so she can start popping out babies."

"Draco!"

"What? It's true isn't it?"

"You don't have to word it that way," she said before beginning to brush her teeth.

"I'll bet you fifty galleons they have a massive brood of children. Five, at the very least. No, six. Although I wouldn't be surprised if they…are you brushing your teeth right now?"

"Mmm hmm," she hummed.

"Cute. So are you going to place a bet with me or not?"

"Nope," she said through a mouth full of toothpaste bubbles.

"Why not? It can be our secret. Come on, Granger—don't ruin my fun."

"…Fine," she relented before spitting into the sink.

"Classy," he muttered, his voice heavy with amusement.

"Do you want me to play your little game or not?"

"Alright, alright. How many kids do you think they'll pop out?"

"Draco!"

"Sorry, sorry! How many beautiful additions to their family do you think they will bring into this world?" he amended.

"Much better," she chuckled, returning the toothbrush to her mouth. "And I think you're probably right. They'll have three or four."

"Really? Just three or four? Come on, you have to pick one number."

"Alright, I'll place bets on three."

"Only three?" he exclaimed. "Come on, it's Ginny _Weasley_ we're talking about. Look how big her family is. And I know Potter is just dying to build his own family, sad little orphan child that he was."

"Draco!" She spit a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink, making sure to hold the phone at an arm's length this time. "You're not being very nice," she admonished.

"I'm just stating facts. I'm not trying to insult your friends, Granger."

"Well how about you try _not _to insult them instead? That might work a little better." She swished a mouthful of water before rinsing.

"Fine, but I stand by the facts. They'll probably have a huge family!"

"It's very important to Ginny that she has a career of some sort. I don't think being a stay at home mother like Molly interests her much. And they are already part-time parents to Teddy. They're his godparents, after all. I wouldn't be surprised if they just end up taking him in at some point."

"Hmm… Alright, in light of that information, I will place my bet on four. No less than four."

"Alright, the bet is on, then." She swished another mouthful of water and turned off the faucet.

"Indeed it is. How many children do you want?"

She choked, sputtering and coughing water all over the sink.

"Oh, don't make it weird," he said. "I'm not making some kind of proposal to have children together, I'm just curious about your opinion on the matter. You're an only child, so I'm assuming you wouldn't want a giant brood of children."

After she had recovered her breath, she hummed thoughtfully. "Two would be good enough for me."

"Hmm."

"What about you?"

"I was an only child, so I don't know anything about caring for children. Besides, it's probably not a good idea for me to procreate."

"Oh and I know so much?" she laughed. "We were _both_ only children. I'm fairly certain you just figure it out as you go. Really? I'd think you would want to continue the Malfoy line," she teased.

"You thought wrong then."

She sobered immediately. "You don't want any children at all?"

He chuckled darkly. "I have no business raising any children. This is _me_ we're talking about."

"Yes, and I fail to see why you shouldn't have children of your own." She picked up her things and crept down the hallway back to her room.

"And force them to live in a society that shuns the Malfoy name? Force a child to live with the reputation my father and I created? I don't think so. I have the Dark Mark, for pity's sake. No thank you."

Hermione was left rather breathless at his words. She sat down slowly on her bed. "Draco, that doesn't matter. You know that right? You certainly shouldn't limit yourself or your future because of what you've done in the past."

"Hmm," was his only response.

Sensing his discomfort, she changed the subject. "When are you arriving on Sunday?"

He readily jumped to the next topic. As they discussed their plans for the remainder of the weekend, she tried to push the sorrow she felt for Draco out of her mind. On the outside, he looked so composed and confident, but on the inside, that was not the case. The poor man.

"You haven't said anything about Ron," he told her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"He's in Bulgaria right now for work. He gets back on Monday, I believe." She lay down on the bed, crawling under the covers.

"He didn't come back to see you?"

"He doesn't know I'm here yet."

"But his whole family does?"

"…Yes."

Draco snorted. "That will go over well."

"Don't remind me," she grumbled. "I'm nervous enough about it as it is."

"Maybe keep Potterette on hand for that confrontation. I hear she has an incredibly effective bogey hex."

She laughed at that, but it turned into a yawn.

His tone softened. "Get to sleep, Granger. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

She smiled sleepily. "Alright. You get some sleep too."

"I'll try my best," he said dryly.

"You just rolled your eyes, didn't you?"

"…How did you know?"

She sighed. "Goodnight Draco. Love you."

After a moment's pause, he uttered "you too, Granger," but she had already hung up.


	42. Apology Flapjacks

**Short chapter today! I have many many errands to run. I figured a short little funny chapter would be better than no chapter at all. There will be more Dramione action soon, worry not.**

The next morning, Hermione opened her eyes and stretched. The smell of food reached her, and it was then that she noticed her door was wide open. Frowning, she rose from the bed, reaching up towards the ceiling and groaning as her back popped. With a satisfied sigh, she wandered out into the hallway. She looked around curiously, wondering who had opened her door, but no one was anywhere to be seen. She tentatively walked down the stairs, which creaked softly under her bare feet. As she rounded the corner, the appetizing smell grew stronger and her stomach made a gurgling sound. She hoped that Ginny had cooled off at least somewhat from their altercation the night before as she mustered the courage to open the kitchen door.

Ginny was standing at the stove wearing a Holyhead Harpies apron over her jeans and gray t-shirt, her hair tied in a haphazard bun at the base of her skull.

"Hermione!" she exclaimed as she noticed her appearance.

"Morning…" Hermione greeted uncertainly. It was then that she noticed the massive stack of flapjacks on the kitchen table, which she took to be a good sign.

The redhead set down the spatula she had in her hand and took a step towards her.

"I'm sorry for… I was rather harsh last night. I…I'm sorry for my outburst. It was rude."

Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry for…" She trailed off as she realized she wasn't quite sure what exactly she should apologize for. "I'm just…sorry."

Ginny gave a little smile. "I just assumed that you were here to stay, and I got really excited. Then when you mentioned France, I kind of just…well…you know. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, it was mean."

"It's okay," she replied with a smile of her own. "Going back to France doesn't mean we can't be friends, you know."

Ginny's smile faded a bit. "I hope not. I just worry. You just got back, and you're already planning on leaving." She shrugged. "You're the first girl friend I've ever had—the closest thing to a sister I'll probably ever get, you know?"

Hermione nodded. "I understand. You're just as important to me, you know. I left for reasons having to do with the war. It was just…I was overwhelmed. I had to work through some things. I'm not going to abandon you guys again."

Ginny smiled again. "Okay."

"And if I do, you know where to find me, anyway," Hermione joked.

"That's true. Harry can just come blow your door off its hinges again."

The brunette grinned. "He told you about that?"

She picked up the spatula and returned to her cooking. "Of course he did! You should have heard the way he bragged about breaking Draco's nose!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's not something to be proud of—not anymore, at least. Draco was defenseless! He was half naked, for crying out loud."

Ginny turned back to her with wide eyes and a scandalized grin. "Now that detail, he left out. That's a good detail. How could he not tell me that part?" She laughed. "I can just see it now. That's so funny. I mean, sad, but funny."

"It's a little funny, I suppose," Hermione chuckled. "So…are these the apology flapjacks Harry told me about?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Apology flapjacks?"

Hermione bit her lip and nodded.

"Morning, Mione!" Harry greeted cheerily as he entered the kitchen and sat at the table. "Told you the smell of breakfast would wake her up," he said to Ginny. He reached for a copy of The Prophet which sat folded up on the table.

"Apology flapjacks?" Ginny said. "Really?"

Harry frowned, looking back and forth between the girls. "Did I miss something?"

"Did you actually call them apology flapjacks?" his wife asked.

Realization dawned on him, and he shook his head. "No, but that's a good name for them, don't you think? Maybe I'll start calling them that from here on."

Ginny pointed the spatula at him. "You'll do no such thing or you will never see a flapjack in this house again."

Harry snorted. "I'll just make them myself, then. Your mum taught me the recipe, anyway."

Hermione laughed. "Harry, I've tried your cooking before and it's an experience I'd like to never have to repeat."

"That's not fair!" he complained. "We were living on the run in the middle of nowhere! I mean, come on! We were eating fish and berries and turnips that we found in the wild. How good can _anyone's _cooking be in those conditions? I don't recall your fish tasting any better than mine."

"Bet it was better than Ron's," Ginny added.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't even get me started on Ron's cooking."

Hermione shuddered. "I couldn't stomach fish for _days_ after that disaster."

"Harry is actually a decent cook now, Mione," Ginny told her, flipping the pancake over on the pan. "He's been having my mum teach him."

"What?" Hermione laughed. "Seriously?"

Harry nodded proudly. "More than _decent. _I'm a better cook than Gin."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well that's not hard, considering my culinary capabilities consist of flapjacks, mashed potatoes, and spaghetti."

Hermione grinned. She found it more than slightly humorous that Ginny could hardly cook to save her life when she grew up with a mother like Molly Weasley, who could cook literally anything for anyone at any time.

"Maybe Harry should stay at home with the kids and you can work every day," Hermione suggested.

Ginny grinned, her eyes twinkling. "Only if he has dinner ready for me when I get home. Six o'clock _sharp_, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes as the girls laughed. "Sure, go ahead and laugh." He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like _it'd be good dinner too,_ with made them laugh even harder.

"So when is Draco coming to England?" Ginny asked as she turned off the stove and slid the last pancake onto a plate.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not certain, but I think his plane will be arriving some time in the evening tomorrow."

The redhead's eyes widened. "Draco Malfoy is taking an aeroplane?"

"Now that's a sentence I never thought I'd live to hear," Harry commented.

"He flies in planes all the time now," Hermione told them. She stepped forward and took the second plate of pancakes over to the table. "He doesn't love it, but he does it. But he loves his car."

Harry's eyes were practically bugging out of his head. "You're joking."

"No, I'm serious. It's a really posh Italian car—brand new. He loves that thing. He even named it—Lolita."

Ginny frowned. "Why would you name a car?"

Harry retrieved silverware from the drawer and set them on the table. "It's a common Muggle practice. They name their cars."

"But…Draco isn't a Muggle."

"No but he's had to live like one," Hermione reminded her. "He's become very involved in Muggle culture. The whole reason we ran into each other was because he was searching for a particular Muggle novel. He's relatively well learned in Muggle Literature."

"Okay, we have to stop talking about this," Harry said. "It's freaking me out. My head feels like it's going to spin off my neck."

Hermione grinned. "I told you—he's changed quite a bit."

Ginny sat at the table beside Harry. "Sounds like it…"

"So what are you going to do after you retire this season?" Hermione asked her friend. "Do you want to stay home and be a full time mom?"

Ginny shrugged. "For a while I will, yeah, but not forever. I don't know, I've been looking into different options. I'd like to do something with Quidditch, I just can't figure out what. I'd have to balance it out with being a mom."

Harry looked thoughtful as he put three pancakes on his plate and proceeded to slather them in maple syrup. "You know, Matilda Roberts was complaining about the other day about two of her Quidditch Correspondents going on Maternity Leave at the end of the summer, right before the World Cup. Would you like to do something like that?"

"Who is Matilda Roberts?" Hermione asked, serving herself two pancakes.

"She's the senior Quidditch Correspondent for The Prophet," Ginny explained briefly before turning back to Harry. "Really? They're going to have an opening?" she asked excitedly.

He nodded as he chewed. "Gin, these are really good," he said through a mouth full of food.

"Maybe I should owl her and ask about any upcoming positions," his wife said thoughtfully.

"Wow, these _are_ really good," Hermione commented as she swallowed her first bite of food. "They taste just like your mum's flapjacks."

"Thanks," Ginny said, beaming proudly.

"I could ask her about it," Harry offered.

Ginny shook her head adamantly as she began to cut up her food. "No, definitely not. I'll pursue it myself, thank you very much. I don't want anyone to say that I got a job simply because of my celebrity spouse."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not a celebrity."

Hermione laughed. "Yes you are, Harry. And Ginny makes a good point. She can build her career on her own—obviously. I mean she was the youngest chaser for the Holyhead Harpies."

"Fresh out of Hogwarts," Ginny said proudly.

"Exactly!" Hermione confirmed. "She can certainly obtain this one on her own, too."

"I never said she couldn't!" Harry insisted. "I was just trying to be helpful."

"Thank you, darling." Ginny kissed his cheek. "Oops, got some syrup on your cheek."

Harry wiped at his cheek, smiling at her.

"Oh! Hermione—George owled us this morning and invited us all to go out for drinks with Angelina tonight. I told him you probably weren't wanting to make any public appearances yet…"

"Thank you."

"…So he said we should just come over to his flat and we can have drinks there."

"That sounds lovely," Hermione agreed. "Where is he living now?"

"He has a flat with Angelina."

Hermione blinked. "They _live _together? What did your mother have to say about that?"

Ginny shook her head. "Nothing, really. She was very calm about it."

Harry nodded in agreement as he chewed.

"Wow. That's surprising. I mean good, but surprising. Do you remember how upset she was when Ron and I moved in together?"

She could practically hear Mrs. Weasley's screeches of how inappropriate it was for an unmarried couple to reside in the same flat. _What will people think?_ She'd asked. _It isn't right!_ She'd shouted.

Harry covered his mouth and laughed.

"It wasn't funny, Harry! I thought she was going to disown me or ban me from the burrow! She said unmarried co-living was for trollops!"

Ginny tried to hold back her laughter. "I think this was just a different situation because it's George. She's seen how much Angelina has helped him with…with Fred's death. No one else could get through to him but Angelina. Mum's the last person to complain. She was more worried about him than any of us."

Hermione nodded and returned to her pancakes. "That's good that she's being understanding about it." She glanced at the clock on the wall, where it read 10:40. "What time is your practice, Gin?"

She swallowed her breakfast. "One," she replied.

"I think I'll run to a nearby café or something before we leave then. I need to charge that mobile phone—it's completely dead."

Ginny looked confused. "It died?"

Hermione smiled. "It runs on a battery—that's its power source. But it runs out of power every few days and you have to recharge it."

Ginny rolled her eyes, mumbling something about muggle contraptions.

Hermione finished the food on her plate and took her dishes to the sink, where she began to wash them.

"Don't worry about those," Harry said, raising a wand and casting a spell on them. The washcloth began cleaning the dishes on its own accord, after which a towel rose out of the drawer and dried them. They landed softly in the drying rack beside the sink.

"Well aren't you getting good with domestic spells," Hermione commented, impressed.

Harry beamed. "I certainly am. Molly taught me."

"I think she's just excited that somebody is interested in learning her tricks," Ginny said. "Merlin knows she tried to teach me, but I wasn't really interested." She shrugged.

It amused Hermione to see how well Ginny and Harry balanced each other out. They really were good together—and they were happy.

Hermione said her goodbyes and went to get ready. After showering, brushing her teeth, and getting ready, she charmed her hair into a braid grabbed her things before heading for the door. As she approached the door, she hesitated. Sudden fear gripped her and she reached for the doorknob. When was the last time she went out in public on her own, looking like herself? She couldn't even remember. What if the press found her? What if someone recognized her?

She pulled out her wand and muttered the spell that would disguise her appearance. When the tingling faded, she felt safely anonymous once more. She opened the door and stepped outside.

**I thought it would be funny and ironic if Ginny was totally helpless when it came to domestic things. I didn't want her to be another Molly Weasley-she's sporty and tom-boyish, I think it would fit her more if she couldn't really cook to save her life. I'm sure she would pick things up more once she has children (that's what happened with me), but for now it's up to Harry to do most of the cooking! Plus the idea of Molly teaching Harry to cook is so cute, I couldn't resist.**

**And Hermione will find her courage soon. Once everything is out in the open, she'll find her way back to brave Hermione once again.**


	43. Drinks and Hangovers

**Sorry I haven't written lately! Another crazy week of my life. My cat was attacked and severely injured, and I've been very preoccupied with that, but he is finally pulling through! Yay for the kitties! I hope you all had a good Christmas! I've been wanting to write a Christmas chapter of Dramione, I think I'll write one and submit it as a separate story-just a little short. So in a few days, check out my profile and look for that! Love you all. Happy Holidays.**

The rest of the day passed quickly. Hermione found a nearby café, where she charged her mobile. She tried and failed to reach Draco via phone and text, and once her phone was fully charged, made her way back to Grimmauld Place. Soon after, her, Harry, and Ginny all left for Ginny's Quidditch practice.

Hermione debated heavily over whether or not she should go in disguise or not.

"Mione, nobody will be there, I promise," Ginny assured her. "Just my teammates."

"I'm just so worried about Ron finding out I'm alive before we get to tell him ourselves," she said—which was half true. The other half of the truth was that she felt incredibly naked and vulnerable looking like herself. The realization caused a heavy sensation to sit in the pit of her stomach. When had she become such a coward? So afraid to be herself?

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "She does have a point," he acknowledged. "Everyone knows who she is. It's not like your teammates aren't going to notice that a dead member of the Golden Trio is sitting in the stands. Word spreads quickly. I'd hate for Ron to find out she's here that way. He's going to be pissed enough when he finds out she's dating Malfoy. Why add another thing to it?"

Ginny regarded them with pursed lips, as if taking a moment to consider her husband's words before nodding. "Well it's up to you, obviously."

_I'm not doing this because I'm afraid,_ Hermione told herself as she cast the spell.

Ginny flew wonderfully. She really was a very talented Quidditch player. It was true, Hermione hadn't attended _too_ many of her games before. But she'd seen her play at least a couple of times, and she had only gotten better over the last two years. Ginny had been right—no one had attended the practice but Harry and herself.

She kept her eyes peeled for any beetles—just in case.

Later that evening, after a hearty dinner of spaghetti and meatballs (cooked by none other than the Boy Who Lived), they flooed to George and Angelina's for drinks. Angelina immediately began discussing Quidditch with Ginny. Hermione noted that they got along quite well. She watched them chattering and debating from the other side of the room. She sipped on her wine from across the living room.

"A sophisticated choice for a sophisticated lady, I see," came the voice of a certain redheaded prankster.

She jumped, not noticing his arrival at her side. "George, you scared me!"

He smirked and shook his head. "You must be awfully focused then." He followed her previous trail of sight. "What are you doing over here? Plotting?" he asked, sounding a bit too hopeful for his own good. "Mione, are you scheming pranks? Without me? In my own home? Shameful," he tsked.

Hermione chuckled. "Not at all. You know I'm not one for pranks. I'm just…observing. Angelina and Ginny seem to get along very well."

"They do—especially when Quidditch is involved. Angelina didn't go pro like Ginny, but she enjoys Quidditch just as much. They can talk about it for hours. Don't think they have much else in common than that, but they get along pretty well."

"Well that's good. You and Angelina are very happy, I can tell. I'm happy for you two."

He smiled at her. "Thank you. She's helped me…tremendously. After…" He swallowed thickly. "After Freddy was…gone, I…I didn't think I could have a life again. I felt like I'd died with him. But then, she…" He looked back at Angelina, and his face softened. "I don't know what I'd do without her. She saved me."

Hermione looked over at Angelina, whose lips were pursed into a frown. She shook her head adamantly at something Ginny said, her ringlet curls bouncing as she did so. She felt a tremendous amount of gratitude and affection for the girl at that moment.

"What about you?"

Hermione blinked, turning back to George. "What about me?"

His face took on a sly expression. "Now don't play coy with me, Miss Granger. I know you're dating someone."

She felt her eyes go wide and she immediately looked away, straightening uncomfortably. "What makes you say that?" she asked.

"Well I was just throwing it out there, but you didn't deny it, so go on—tell me. Is he French? A wizard? Muggle? Squib? Don't tell me—he's a professor."

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. "George, you're daft, you know that?"

"Is it someone I know?"

Now her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She glanced over George's shoulder at where Harry was sitting on the couch, pouring himself a generous helping of firewhiskey.

"Did Harry tell you?"

George's eyebrows rose and he grinned. "Ah, the plot thickens. So it _is_ someone I know. British. Hmm… Well, I know a lot of people. I'm quite popular, you know. Come on, narrow it down for me a bit."

"Why are you so curious about my love life?"

"I'm curious about many things—the love life of my almost sister back from the dead being one of them. Go on, tell me."

"I'd really rather not talk about it right now, to be honest," she muttered.

"And why ever not? This is me you're talking to. Georgie! Does mum know you have a boyfriend? Has Ginny invited him over for dinner yet?"

Hermione snorted. "Don't think that's going to happen."

"Why not?" His eyes lit up. "He's a muggle, isn't he?"

"What are we talking about?" Harry asked, approaching them.

"I'm trying to get a little information out of Mione about her boyfriend, but she's being rather secretive about it," the twin explained, watching Hermione with a calculating glimmer in his eyes. She had seen that look in his eyes before—in both his and Fred's eyes. It meant they were thinking, and it was always followed by trouble.

Harry's eyes went wide and he was suddenly very silent. He took a drink of Firewhiskey before plastering an uncomfortable smile on his face. "So George, how's the shop?"

George turned his calculating gaze to Harry. "So it's a secret then, is it? Come on, I can keep a secret, Mione." He elbowed her. "Tell me!"

"I'm dating Draco Malfoy," Hermione blurted.

A loud hearty laugh burst from George's mouth before he looped his arm around her shoulders. "Mione, Mione. You're a funny one. Alright, fine. Don't tell me. _Draco Malfoy," _he chuckled to himself as he shook his head and walked into the kitchen.

Harry and Hermione stood there watching him before turning to one another.

"That went well," Harry said as he took another drink of alcohol.

That night, Hermione lay in bed feeling rather disappointed that she hadn't been able to get a hold of Draco all day. He had sent her a text saying _miss you, Granger. Super busy but we'll talk later._ But he hadn't contacted her since and he hadn't answered her calls either.

Feeling discouraged, she rolled over and fell asleep with her phone in hand.

The next morning she woke to someone brushing her hair back in soothing motions. She smiled sleepily and hummed.

"That feels good," she mumbled to Ginny. "Is it time for breakfast already?"

"It's well after lunch actually," came a drawling voice that caused her eyes to fly open immediately.

Sitting on the bed next to her was none other than Draco himself. She blinked heavily, staring at him. "Am I dreaming?" she wondered aloud.

"Now that's a flattering thing to hear," he said with a smirk. "I had no idea you could be charming so soon after waking up."

She immediately sat up and reached forward to touch his cheek. "You're really here!" she exclaimed excitedly. "How are you here right now?" She jumped forward and tackled him into a hug. "I've missed you so much!"

He laughed, hugging her back. "I missed you too, Granger."

She pulled back, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. "How are you here?" she asked between kisses.

"Well I…oomf…got quite a few…owls from…Potterette and she…was rather… oomf… insistent…I…just decided to…come over," he struggled to say between the kisses she was peppering him with.

"You came over for dinner?" she crooned excitedly.

He rolled his eyes. "I did, yes."

She bit her lip, feeling positively giddy. "Thank you," she said softly. "Thank you so much."

He scoffed. "You're welcome, Granger," he said in his sarcastic voice.

"No I mean it," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him gently. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I can tell," he joked. "I missed you," he added, his tone softening.

The door creaked open and Draco tensed considerably.

"You're awake!" Ginny exclaimed. "Good. How are you feeling? Hungover at all?"

Hermione laughed. "No, I only had two glasses of wine last night."

"Well that was the responsible thing to do, I suppose," the redhead responded. "Harry did not do the responsible thing. He is currently nursing a hangover at the kitchen table."

"Don't you have any pepper up potion?" Hermione asked.

"Fresh out, I'm afraid," Ginny told her. "We all slept in pretty late today. Anyway," she said, casting a look at Draco, "We're going to start cooking soon. Well, Harry is going to start cooking soon. Feel free to join us downstairs whenever you two are done…catching up." She grinned and winked before departing, closing the door behind her.

Draco glanced back at the door before turning back to Hermione. "Why do I gather that Potterette is a bit of a pervert?"

Hermione laughed. "She is a slight pervert, that's true. Well, I should shower."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Care for some company? I could use a shower too, you know."

She bit her lip.

"I just came from the airport, and I smell like foreigners." He sniffed his shoulder dramatically. "Yup, definitely in need of a shower."

Hermione smiled coyly. "Well if you need a shower, and I need a shower, I think the responsible thing would be to conserve water."

"And you are the most responsible one in this entire house right now," he said, absolutely serious.

Hermione nodded, trying to keep a straight face. "That I am."

Draco rose from the bed and scooped Hermione up into his arms, bridal style. She shrieked before laughing.

"Let's go conserve some water," he said with a grin.

An hour later, Hermione and Draco were freshly showered and dressed. Hermione had cast a cleaning charm on Draco's clothes and he had donned his now clean suit. Hermione was sitting at the vanity in jeans and a gray sweater while she braided her hair.

"I thought you weren't getting into Britain until later this evening?" she asked him.

"I took an earlier flight. Also, I was starting to get weird questions from the hotel staff about the owls that were perched on the window of my hotel room, so I figured it was best to get out of there."

"Ginny wrote you that many times?"

"She asked…well, she rather demanded that I come to dinner," he said, wrinkling his nose. "She said it would mean a lot to you, said she really wanted to get to know me, Harry wanted me to come too… I know she's lying, but I missed you so I came anyway."

She smiled. "Thank you so much for coming. I know it's not easy for you."

He sauntered across the room as he finished buttoning the top of his dress shirt. "You don't have to thank me," he said before kissing her neck. "I can sit through one dinner with the Potters if it means I get to spend time with you."

She warmed at his words. "Have you visited your mother yet?"

He shook his head. "I forgot to write her ,too. She doesn't know I'm here yet." He grimaced.

She grinned. "Well I'm flattered that the first thing you did when you arrived was visit me," she said. She rose from her seat and kissed him, pulling him down to her by his shirt.

There was a knock at the door that startled them.

Harry's muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door. "Ginny made me come up here. I'm not opening the door because I don't want to see anything that will burn my eyes from my skull, so…"

Hermione chuckled to herself as she opened the door. "Yes Harry?" she asked.

He glanced between her and Draco. "Hey. Err…Ginny says tea is ready."

"Thank you. We'll be right down."

He turned and walked away without a word.

Hermione turned back to face Draco and held out her hand. "Ready?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't coddle me, Granger," he drawled as he walked out the door. But he accepted her hand as he passed. She grinned, following him towards the stairs.

"So you work with Muggles?" Harry asked thirty minutes later as they sat at the table finishing their last cups of tea. They had all been carrying on in comfortable conversation, to Hermione's immense relief. Ginny had broken the ice with conversation about Draco's business, and he had given them a run down of his operation. It had been a shaky start, filled with many uneasy silences, but once they got Draco talking, he seemed to relax considerably.

Draco nodded. "I do. It's been great for business, I'm glad I did it."

"Well I think that's wonderful," Ginny remarked. "And good for you. I don't think I could submerge myself in the Muggle world, to be honest. Although I do enjoy Muggle movies very much," she added with a grin. "We bought that television set when we got married. We rent movies sometimes. And Harry bought the…what was it called? TVT player?"

"DVD player," Harry replied, trying to hide his laugh with a cough.

Draco grinned at this.

Ginny knocked Harry with her shoulder. "I was close! Don't laugh at me."

Harry nodded obediently and Hermione smiled.

"Harry, do you have any fire whiskey?" she asked.

Draco perked up considerably. "Fire whiskey?"

"Draco hasn't had fire whiskey here since he left for France," she explained. "I'm sure he'd enjoy a drink over dinner."

Harry turned green. "You can have the whole bottle, mate. I never want to drink fire whiskey again," he said with a groan.

"I think I'll go to the shop and get some more pepper up potion, just in case," Hermione said. "How's that headache?" she asked him.

"Much better, but my stomach is pretty upset."

"Well that's what you get for engaging in a drinking contest with George," Ginny admonished. "You deserve a hangover for that." She turned back to Hermione and Draco. "Last time he did that, he took his shirt off. At the Burrow!"

They all laughed at that, and Harry blushed, adjusting his glasses. "It was New Year's Eve! We were celebrating!"

Ginny hummed thoughtfully.

"Why don't we start on dinner?" Harry asked, changing the subject. "Ginny, I'm banning you from the kitchen."

"What?" she protested. "I can help!"

"Draco should help you," Hermione suggested deviously.

Draco's mouth dropped. "What?"

"Draco could use some cooking lessons," she continued. "He almost burned his kitchen down last time he tried to cook for me."

Harry gave a half smile. "I've been taking lessons from Molly."

Draco narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he set his mug of tea down. "I'd have never taken you for a cook, Potter."

"He's a very good cook," Ginny grumbled. "Better than me, at least."

"Interesting," Draco commented, taking another drink of his tea.

"Go on," Ginny encouraged, rising to her feet. "Hermione and I will go pick out a movie at that DVD store down the road after we get some more Pepper Up. You boys start on dinner."

"Restaurant De Draco," Hermione whispered jokingly.

"Alright, alright," he relented, rising to his feet. He began to roll up his sleeves. "But if we're cooking, that means you two have to do the dishes," he said with a smirk.

"Fair enough," Hermione agreed, pecking Draco on the cheek. She pulled him aside as Harry turned towards the kitchen and Ginny followed after with the empty tea cups.

"Are you okay if I leave you here?"

Draco scoffed. "I'm not a child."

She grinned at that. "I know, but I just don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"As long as Potter doesn't punch me in the face, I think I'll be fine," he stated.

"No promises!" Harry called from the next room.

"It's rude to eavesdrop!" Hermione called back. They were greeted with silence. She shook her head and smiled. "Thank you for doing this."

He smirked and reached down to kiss her. "Unfortunately, I think I'd do anything for you, Granger."

She grinned.

"Alright, alright, you lovebirds," Ginny interrupted as she re-entered the room. "Let's get going. I want to find a good action movie with lots of explosions."

Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I've decided Ginny should be the one to pick the movie," he told Hermione.

"Oh you've decided, have you? You wouldn't prefer something like the Notebook?" she teased.

Draco's eyes widened and he glanced at Ginny nervously. "Of course not. Ridiculous movie."

"I believe your exact words were _moving_ and _brilliant,_ if I recall our conversation correctly. You saw it in the movie theater, remember?"

Ginny chortled at that. "Isn't The Notebook a chick flick?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Draco insisted before strolling out of the room and into the kitchen.

Ginny and Hermione erupted in giggles.

**Will Harry and Draco be able to cook dinner together peacefully? Hmmm maybe they will finally get to be friends like Draco always wanted. Stay tuned to see!**


	44. Dinner

Draco entered the kitchen, escaping the girlish giggles sounding behind him. _Women,_ he thought irritably. So what if he had enjoyed a _chick flick?_ He was entitled to an opinion, whatever that may be.

All thoughts stopped at the sight before him. He stopped mid-step and blinked, unable believe his eyes.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, eyeing Potter in disbelief.

Potter had a pink apron tied around his waist and neck—and it had large lacy pockets and frills.

Potter froze, a pan and a pot in each hand, and had the decency to be embarrassed as he looked down at his own ridiculous appearance. "It's…Ginny's," he defended weakly.

Draco's left eyebrow rose as he looked down his nose at The Boy Who Lived. If any Death Eaters had seen him like this, the war might have ended very differently. It was hard to take anyone in a pink frilly apron seriously.

"Why on earth are you wearing it? You look…absurd." He couldn't believe this was the same person that had defeated one of the darkest wizards of all time.

Potter blushed and set the pot and pan down on the counter with a loud clang before he began rapidly untying the apron and removing it from his neck. "It's to protect your clothes from any spills," he muttered, not looking up.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Potter, you're a _wizard._ Any mess you make can be cleaned with a simple spell." He shook his head. "And at the very least you could alter the appearance of that blasted thing. Do away with the…lace."

Potter grumbled some kind of excuse about it being his mother-in-law's apron.

He couldn't help it—he smirked. "Unless you like the lace and frills…then by all means, don't take it off on my account."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"The Boy Who Lived, everybody."

"I said _shut up._"

"It's quite adorable actually."

"Malfoy—"

"No really, I think maybe my initial response was wrong. It suits you."

"Malfoy!"

He raised his hands in surrender. "Just saying. It's lovely."

Potter glared at him before picking up the pot and pan off the counter.

"Do you often enjoy wearing lace and frills? I mean, why limit yourself to just the kitchen? Do you revel in a bit of lace in the bedroom too? No, don't answer that. I don't want to know."

"Malfoy, I swear to God I will break your nose again, and this time, Hermione isn't here to make me fix it."

He went silent at that, but didn't bother disguising the overly pleased expression on his face. _Take that, Potter, _he thought.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?" Potter snapped.

_Touchy, touchy… _He took a step forward. "What are we making?"

"Three Cheese Eggplant Lasagna," the raven-haired boy replied.

He wrinkled his nose at that. "_Eggplant?_ Why in the name of all that is magical would you put eggplant in lasagna?"

Now it was Potter's turn to smirk. "It's good—trust me."

Draco folded his sleeves back and turned on the faucet to wash his hands.

Fifteen minutes later, Draco Malfoy was crying. He reached up and wiped his eyes with the back of his arm.

"Why did I have to be the one to chop onions?" he complained. "Don't roll your eyes at me, Potter!"

"I _will_ roll my eyes at you," Potter responded. "Because you're being a drama queen."

Draco's jaw dropped. "How dare you! I am not a…drama queen! All I'm saying is that you could be doing this the simple way—with magic—and instead I'm over here chopping onions the Muggle way and I'm…" He sniffed—now his nose was running. "Why couldn't I have chopped up the tomatoes or the bloody eggplant even? Why the onions? I hate cutting onions!"

Potter smirked at him, his green eyes glinting with humor. "No need to cry about it," he muttered.

"I am not crying!"

"You are so."

"It's the onions! What are you… Stop muttering under your breath! If you're going to insult me, say it to my face!"

Potter sighed before turning to face him. "I was just saying that maybe you should wear the pink apron, since you're being such a little girl."

He slammed the knife down on the counter, staring incredulously at the man. "You…you…" He sighed. "That was a good one, actually."

Potter looked at him with raised eyebrows before smiling. He nodded once before turning back to the pan of eggplant and tomatoes before him. Draco resumed chopping his onions.

"I hope the boys haven't killed each other yet," Hermione muttered as she and Ginny rounded the corner. Grimmauld Place appeared as they approached, the buildings beside it sliding apart as the cloaking spell lifted.

Ginny laughed. "I'm sure they're fine. Now will you take off that ridiculous charm? Do you know how strange it is to talk to you like this?"

Hermione cast her eyes up and down the street as they walked up the steps before she lifted the wand to her head and muttered the counter-spell. Moments later, she looked like herself once more.

"When are you going to announce to the public that you're alive? Aren't you tired of doing that?"

"As soon as we tell Ron, you can announce me to the world, Gin," she assured her redheaded friend.

"He owled me early this morning, by the way. He said he'd be coming by tomorrow night to pick up Harry. They used to have guy's night every Monday, but it's been a while since they went out."

"Good. Ugh, I'm so nervous about seeing him." She opened the front door.

"Well I'd imagine so. Mmm…it smells amazing in here. I'm so glad Harry is a good cook."

Hermione smiled at her friend and set down the bag in her hand containing two rented movies. "I'm going to go check on them."

Ginny nodded as she set down the bags in her hand as well before following her.

Hermione walked into the kitchen to find Harry laughing and Draco shaking his head as he leaned against the table with a cup of tea in hand. She immediately relaxed upon seeing they were both in one piece.

"It's not that funny, Potter! I—" Draco cut off when he saw Hermione. "Hey," he greeted, looping his arm around her shoulders as she approached him. "Did you and Potterette get a movie?"

She rolled her eyes, unable to hold back a smile.

"Yes we did," Ginny answered as she entered the kitchen as well. "An action film—as you requested—starring Bruce Willis."

"Awesome," Draco said, looking pleased. He turned back to Hermione. "We made Eggplant for dinner."

Hermione balked.

"Three cheese eggplant lasagna," Harry corrected with a roll of his eyes.

"So creative," Ginny crooned as she wrapped her arms around Harry's torso. "I love when you experiment in the kitchen," she said in a sultry voice.

Draco's face scrunched up in distaste. "Alright, that's enough. I'm going to have a drink. Who wants to join me?"

Ginny's face lit up. "Me!"

Draco looked at Hermione, but she shook her head. Harry passed up the offer as well.

"Come on, Potter. One drink."

"My stomach hurts just thinking about it. I'll pass."

"Alright, Red. It's just you and me, then," Draco said before he pressed a kiss to Hermione's forehead.

Ginny retrieved the bottle from the cupboard, along with two glasses. She poured them both drinks and handed Draco his. He accepted it gleefully and tapped it lightly against her glass in a cheer.

"You and I have been apart for far too long," he crooned to the glass.

Hermione rolled her eyes, trying not to give away the tendril of worry knotting in her stomach. Draco had an unhealthy drinking habit. It was the only doubt she had about their relationship, the only concern she had for their future. Drinking in a social setting was one thing—that was fine. It was the times Draco sat at home alone getting completely wasted in response to stress that worried her. He was a grown man and his own person—she had no doubt that he could manage his problems on his own. She reminded herself that unless he asked for help or further demonstrated destructive behavior, she didn't need to intervene.

"I'll set the table," she offered, deciding to spur herself into action. She retrieved plates, cups and silverware from the cupboards and drawers before placing them neatly on the table.

Draco gave a content little hum as he swallowed his drink. "So Red, I hear you're a star now."

Ginny's lips quirked up into a smile at his name for her. "A star?"

He nodded. "Quidditch star."

She laughed. "I wouldn't say I'm a star…"

"I would," Harry commented with a grin.

"You can't argue with the Boy Who Lived," Draco added.

Harry shrugged as if conceding to his point.

Ginny smiled as she took a swig of firewhiskey. "I'm just lucky I got to do something I enjoyed for a living. I'm hoping I can continue to do something involving Quidditch after I retire."

"She's looking into a position as a Quidditch correspondent for the Prophet," Hermione interjected with a smile.

"That would suit you," Draco added with a nod.

"I think it would," the redhead agreed.

"So when exactly are you two planning to start this family of yours then?" he asked.

Ginny took Harry's hand in hers and they exchanged a smile. "As soon as the season is over, I think," she replied.

Harry nodded in agreement.

Just then, the oven dinged. Harry straightened from his position resting against the table and grabbed an oven mitt. As he opened the oven door, they were hit with the delicious smell of pasta sauce and spices.

"That smells amazing," Hermione said. She opened the fridge. "What should we have to drink?"

"I say we crack open that bottle of wine Ma…err…Draco brought," Harry said as he pulled the lasagna out and set it on top of the stove. "Red wine and lasagna will pair nicely."

Hermione smiled at Harry's correction. "You brought wine?" she asked, surprised.

Draco nodded. "Of course. It's rude not to bring a gift to dinner. And I'm never rude."

Harry snorted and Hermione laughed.

The blonde narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to pretend you two didn't just do that."

"Ignore them," Ginny said. "Will you fetch the wine glasses from that top shelf there? I'll grab the wine."

Draco set the wine glasses on the table and Hermione sat down, feeling positively gleeful at how smoothly their interactions were going. Draco fit right in. He was a charming man when he wanted to be—she was just grateful he was willing to put his charm to good use and that he and Harry weren't fighting.

"I'll take this," Draco said, lifting the bottle from Ginny's hands and pulling off the seal. She handed him the wine opener and he began to twist the corkscrew into the cork. "This is a Burgandy Cote de Beaune. 1970—a very good year for wine."

Harry rolled his eyes behind Draco's back and Hermione sent him a warning look.

"Well thank you very much for bringing it," Ginny said kindly as she sat down at the table across from Hermione.

Draco removed the cork and set it on the counter, then set the bottle gently on the table. He downed the rest of his firewhiskey before placing his tumbler in the kitchen sink. He winked at Hermione as he sat next to her and she reached over to squeeze his knee affectionately. He took her hand in his and held it under the table.

Harry sat at the table, placing the dish of lasagna in the center. "Dig in, guys."

They each took turns serving themselves portions of lasagna and after a few minutes of letting the wine "breathe"—as Draco explained was vital while he ignored Harry's further eye-rolling—he poured them all glasses of the wine.

Harry began to recant a story about his disastrous training exercise with the new Auror trainees, which had them all laughing—Ginny and Draco the hardest, thanks to the firewhiskey. Hermione watched Draco laugh—he was so open and carefree at this moment, and she felt a surge of affection for him. She looked around the room at the people she was closest too and smiled. All was right.

The dinner passed in comfortable conversation, and it was delicious.

"I was wrong about the eggplant, Potter," Draco said. "I've always hated eggplant, but this is delicious." He held up his half empty wine glass to the raven-haired boy.

Harry smiled proudly as Ginny rubbed small circles on his back.

"He's right, it's amazing," Hermione added. "Thank you for cooking, boys."

"Yes, thank you," Ginny said. "I'm glad at least one of us will be able to cook homemade meals for our future children." She kissed his cheek and he blushed.

Hermione reached forward to pick up her glass of wine. "I was thinking that maybe we should—"

She trailed off as a whooshing sound came from the next room, which signified someone arriving by floo. She had a split second to look up at Harry, who frowned in confusion, before she heard a voice call for Harry and Ginny—and her eyes widened in horror.

"Where are you guys?" came Ron's voice from the next room.

Hermione shot to her feet, knocking over her wine glass, which cracked and spilled red wine across the table. She reached for the glass before realizing it was a lost cause, then brought her hands to her cheeks, unsure of what to do.

_This cannot be happening!_

Harry rose to his feet as well, immediately rushing to the kitchen door to stop Ron from entering. Ginny's mouth was hanging open.

"Shit," both Ginny and Draco said at the same time.

Hermione faced the door as Harry passed through it, wringing her hands nervously.

"And to think this was going so well," Draco muttered, rubbing his face tiredly. He was now the only one sitting at the table—Ginny had risen to her feet as well.

"Hey, mate. I got a letter from Dad saying I should come home as early as possible—not to dawdle in Bulgaria," Ron said to Harry with a laugh.

Hermione took a single step towards the door, and stopped. She couldn't just burst in, could she?

"Something about I should hurry home. He told me to owl you guys first thing in the morning, but I finished up early and decided to just drop by."

"Ron…" came Harry's voice now. He sounded apprehensive. "This isn't really a good time."

"Is Ginny naked in the kitchen again?" Ron asked irritably. "Because if that's the case, I'll just go. You may have married my sister, but I'd rather not have to be reminded that—"

"No! No, she's…no."

Draco snorted and Ginny face-palmed. "That was one time," she whispered.

Hermione couldn't be bothered with the humor of that story—she was a nervous wreck.

"You should just come by first thing in the morning, mate," Harry said.

They were just outside the door. One step and he would be in the kitchen. Hermione was losing her mind.

"Why…where's Ginny?" Ron asked, sounding very suspicious now.

Ginny practically ran to the door, slipping out of the kitchen. "Hey Ron, how was Bulgaria?"

"Hey, Gin…"

Hermione put her face in her hands at how suspicious they were all being. This was a right disaster.

Draco rose from the table, his chair scraping across the wooden floor and causing both him and Hermione to flinch.

"…Who's in the kitchen?" Ron asked.

Silence was his answer.

"Ron," Ginny began in placating tone, "It's really not a good time. Please just…come back in the morning. We can talk then."

"Well…now I'm curious. Who's in the kitchen? What's…what's going on? You guys are acting really weird."

Draco reached for Hermione, placing a soothing hand on her back and kissing her head.

"I'm so sorry about this, Draco," she whispered, turning to him. "I can't believe he came back early, I had no idea—"

There was the sound of a scuffle. "Ron!" both Ginny and Harry shouted simultaneously.

Hermione whipped around to face the door and cursed internally.

Ron was staring at her with wide eyes, his mouth agape.

His eyebrows pulled together as he took in the sight of them. He didn't spare Draco more than a single glance-his eyes lingered on Hermione and he looked absolutely shocked. He blinked twice before shaking his head slightly, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"...Mione?"


	45. Breaking the News

**Hello everyone! News update: my cat is doing well, thank you for asking! He is much happier now, eating and drinking again and running around, happy as can be. :)**

**To the guest from France who corrected me on the city where Draco and Hermione were living-thank you! I know, I realized halfway through the fic that I had gotten the name of the city wrong and I was so irritated with myself! I will eventually go back and fix it, but there's a lot of chapters to correct lol! So sorry for getting that wrong! Thank you for bringing it to my attention, I appreciate it :)**

"…Mione?"

Hermione froze. She felt Draco tense beside her.

"Ron," she greeted weakly.

The seconds passed incredibly slowly as Ron stared at her. "You're…you're alive. Merlin's beard, you're alive!"

He suddenly rushed forward and pulled her into a hug. She tried to relax as she hugged him back.

He pulled back and took her face in his hands. "I thought…we all thought…" He brushed a loose curl back from her face and grinned. "I can't believe it, you're actually here."

She grew increasingly uncomfortable at the intimate way he was touching her, very aware that Draco was scowling beside them. She reached up and pulled his hands away from her face. "It's good to see you, Ron," she said with a watery smile.

It was then that he seemed to realize Draco was standing there. "Why is Malfoy in Harry and Ginny's kitchen?"

In that moment, Hermione knew what it meant to me tongue-tied. She opened her mouth but was unable to find the words.

"Good to see you too…_Weasley_," Draco said tersely.

Ron scowled at the derogatory tone in which he said his name, still holding Hermione's hands in his. "What's going on? Why…" He glanced at Harry and Ginny who were standing by the door and watching the ordeal with anxious expressions on their faces.

"Ron, I…" Hermione paused and cleared her throat. "There's a few things I should probably explain."

"How long have you been here? When did you…how did you…"

"Eloquent as ever, I see," Draco muttered.

Ron turned to Draco again, eyeing him with obvious disgust. "What exactly are you doing in my sister's house, _Malfoy?_" he spat.

"Ron, stop," Hermione pleaded. "He's…he's…with…me," she faltered.

The redhead appeared confused and he shook his head. "Somebody better start explaining, because I don't understand. Why do I feel like everyone has been trying to hide you in here?"

"I… We weren't expecting you back so early," Ginny supplied. "We were having dinner… We had planned on breaking the news to you tomorrow when you got home."

Draco's eyes were fixed on Ron and Hermione's hands, and he didn't look happy. Hermione immediately pulled away.

Ron looked down at their hands as soon as she did so, his face painted with disappointment. "Somebody just tell me what's going on. Why is Malfoy here? What do you mean he's with you? You hate Malfoy!"

"I don't," Hermione argued. "It's not... Look, I'll start at the beginning. Can we please…" she swallowed thickly, glancing at Harry and Ginny before turning to Draco. "Can we have a moment of privacy?"

Draco's face cleared, going completely expressionless in a way that concerned her deeply. He nodded tightly before departing from the room. Harry followed right after him, and Ginny trailed behind, casting one last look of concern as she exited the room.

Ron didn't take his eyes off Hermione the entire time. He was watching her with a reverent expression, almost like he wasn't sure she was real. He reached up again to touch her face, and once more, she pulled his hand away gently. He frowned slightly in response, his eyebrows twitching together for a second.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I know we…we didn't end on the best of terms. I shouldn't…I just…I can't believe you're here. I never thought I would see you again. Never thought I'd touch you again."

She winced internally at the intimacy in his words, but smiled at him anyway. "I'm here, Ron. And I'm alive…obviously."

"Where have you been? Two years! Two years, Mione! Where did you go? I thought you were dead! They said you'd been killed!"

"I ran away," she confessed. "I just…I was so unhappy. I felt lost and everything was ruined. Everything was ruined after the war…my parents…our entire lives…I just… We weren't even friends anymore and I—"

"You ran away?" he repeated, his tone full of disbelief. "You… Mione, I'm sorry for how things ended, I'm so sorry. I felt so guilty for the way I treated you after we broke up. I was… There's no excuse for how I acted. I was an idiot. You know I don't always think before I act. But you didn't have to _leave_," he stressed. "You didn't have to run away, for crying out loud!"

She shook her head. "I know! I know, and I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry I abandoned you all, it was selfish."

His frown deepened and he pulled her into a warm embrace once more, resting his chin on her head with a sigh.

It was a strange combination of emotions that flooded through her at that moment. He felt so familiar to her, so comforting in a sense. The way her head rested against his chest was familiar—she'd spent a lot of time in his arms this way. But it was different, too, and it felt wrong somehow. She'd grown so used to finding comfort in the planes and contours of Draco's body—the firm hardness of his frame. Ron's embrace was too warm, too soft. And although she knew Ron's body well, in that moment his touch felt somewhat alien and empty.

She pulled back and looked up at Ron. "There's something you should know," she began.

"There's a lot of things I'd like to know, honestly. Let's start with _where have you been_? Where did you go?" he asked. "Harry searched for you all over the globe."

"I was in a small town in France. I've been living without magic—I was hiding."

"Why would you hide from us? Mione, we love you. _I _love you. We're family. Why would you hide from your family?"

She shook her head, that old guilt rising once more to the surface. "I didn't mean to. I just wanted some time away, and it kind of…escaladed. I just never came back. Eventually, I was too afraid to come back."

"Afraid?" He laughed. "What could you possibly be afraid of? Besides getting expelled from Hogwarts?"

She smiled weakly at his joke. "I was afraid you would all hate me," she said quietly.

He shook his head. "I could never hate you. None of us could." He swallowed. "When did you come back?"

"Harry brought me back to England on Thursday evening."

"Thursday? Why didn't you owl me right away? You've been here this whole time?" he exclaimed.

"I was… I was nervous about seeing you. I wasn't sure how you would take it all, and I thought maybe with how things ended between us that you would be angry."

He nodded. "Well I'm angry that you ran away. But I…" His hands ran up and down her arms. "I'm just so happy that you're alive and well," he said with a breathy laugh. "You have no idea. I've missed you."

She smiled. "I've missed you too—all of you. It's good to be back. The burrow is exactly the same, I don't know how I ever stayed away from everyone for so long."

He frowned. "Am I the only one who didn't know you were here?"

"I was saving you for last," she admitted. "Only because I wanted it to be right. That's why I was waiting for you to come back from Bulgaria. You came back early though, and none of this is how I had planned it in my head," she said with a sigh.

He took her hands in his again and she shifted uncomfortably. "But there's something else you should know," she said as she pulled her hands away. "I'm… Well, it's about Draco."

His face wrinkled in confusion. "Yeah, why is Malfoy here? Did you bring him here?"

She nodded. "We ran into one another a while back… He was living in the same city I was, and we…well…we're sort of… well, not sort of, I mean we _are_…completely…" She took a deep breath. "We're together."

He stared at her, his expression unchanging. "What?"

"I'm…I'm dating him. I'm dating Draco." Her heart pounded as she said it. She rubbed her hands on her jeans—they were clammy.

Ron blinked a few times and he seemed to be running her words through his head. "You're… Tell me you're joking."

She shook her head.

The sound of his laughter startled her.

"You…and Malfoy?" He chuckled, "Come off it."

"No, I'm serious, Ronald," she said, feeling irritation prick through her.

He processed her words for a few more seconds, then he became angry. Ah, here was the reaction she'd been preparing herself for.

"You're… you're dating _Malfoy? _Have you lost your bloody mind?!" he asked, his tone steadily rising. "What do you… What could possibly possess you to do such a…such a…" His eyes widened. "Hermione, is he forcing you to do this? How long ago did you say you ran into each other?"

She grew angry at his suggestion. "Of course not! He's not forcing me to do anything! What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me?_ What's wrong with _you?_ You're_ dating a death eater!" _he practically shouted.

"He's not a death eater!" she shouted back. "He's not—" She cut herself off and sighed, rubbing her temples as she tried to calm herself. "You don't know him anymore, Ronald. He's not the same person we went to Hogwarts with. You have to trust me on this, trust my judgment. I'm not stupid—"

"No, you're just making a very stupid decision!"

"I'm not making a stupid decision, Ronald! It's my own business who I date, and you'll do well to remember that! I'm a grown woman, I can make my own decisions. I know what I'm doing!"

His eyes practically bugged out of his head. "Hermione, he tried to kill us! He tried to kill Dumbledore! Have you forgotten everything he did to us? Everything he did to the people we fought with in the war? He's on the wrong side!"

"There are no sides anymore, Ron! The war is over!"

"The war may be over, but there are definitely still sides. I see them every day! I fight that side every day, I take down dark wizards every week! Wizards who would like nothing more than to see people like you—innocent people—dead! Don't tell me there aren't sides anymore. If you think otherwise, you're bloody deceiving yourself!"

"You don't know him, Ron. He's changed, Ron, we've all changed, and I don't see how it's any of your—"

He laughed darkly. "Changed? People like _Malfoy_ don't change, Hermione. They just don't. Maybe it seems like he's different, but it's only because that's what he wants you to think. He's on parole, for crying out loud! He's still enduring a sentence! He's a bloody criminal! You're dating a criminal, Hermione!" His face was turning red now.

"He's not a criminal!" she shouted, fury coming off of her in waves. "And he's enduring a sentence for a crime he didn't commit! You of all people should know that, seeing as I'm standing right here alive and well and unhurt!"

"And I'd like you to stay that way! But you won't if you're associating with people like Malfoy!" he shouted, towering over her.

Just then the door opened and Harry walked in. "Mate, come on. Calm down," he said, approaching Ron hesitantly.

"Calm down?" Ron repeated. "Calm down? You want me to… She's dating _Malfoy!"_

Harry nodded. "I know."

Ron looked at Harry and Hermione like they had sprouted heads. "You_ know?_ And you invited him into your house, with _my_ sister, for _dinner?_ Have you gone mad, Harry? You know what kind of person Malfoy is! How can you stand by and allow this to happen?"

Hermione crossed her arms, trying to resist the urge to strangle the man.

Harry was firm. "It's Hermione's decision. I support her because she's my friend. She knows what she's doing."

"Are you not listening? SHE'S DATING MALFOY!"

"I know!" Harry repeated, raising his tone slightly. "Ron, mate, I know. I wasn't crazy about the idea at first either, but I've been talking with him and he's been spending time with us, and he really is different."

Ron's eyes widened further, giving him the look of a madman. "Harry, it's a fact! Malfoys can't be trusted! You of all people should know that!" His voice broke at the end, going hoarse from all his screaming.

Harry looked downright irritated now. "Why don't we take a break, mate? Let's take some time to cool down and we can finish talking about this later." He reached out to touch Ron's shoulder and calm him, but Ron ripped his arm away and took a step back.

"You're all bloody mad," he growled before storming from the room. There was a whooshing of the floo and the house was silent once more.

Hermione dropped into the chair behind her, feeling exhausted. Fighting with Ron always left her emotionally drained. It was a feeling she had not missed—not one bit.

"It's like he just doesn't hear a word I'm saying. He's so fixed in his ideas," she grumbled.

"Well it's not like we expected it to go smoothly," Harry offered, sitting in the chair beside her.

It was then that Ginny entered the room, biting her lip and giving Hermione a sympathetic look. "You okay?" she asked.

Hermione sighed. "Yes," she lied. "Where is Draco?"

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "He kind of…stormed out."

Hermione rose to her feet. "He left?"

She nodded. "He said _I need some air,_ and he just left."

"How long ago was that?"

"Around the time Ron was calling him a criminal," Harry said.

Hermione shook her head and sighed. "I'm going to try to go find him," she announced before leaving the room.


	46. Binding

To Hermione's immense relief, she didn't have to wander far to find Draco. She opened the front door to see him sitting hunched over on the front steps with his face in his hands.

"Draco?" she called, closing the door behind her.

He immediately sat up straight and turned around. "Hey," he greeted, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You alright?"

She swallowed and nodded. "As alright as I can be. Ronald is infuriating sometimes." She descended down the steps to join him, sitting beside him.

He pulled her close, looping his arm around her shoulders. "No arguments there."

"I'm sorry you had to be here for that. It wasn't fair to you. He ruined dinner," she grumbled.

He kissed the top of her head. "It's not your fault," he assured her with a sigh.

"I hope you don't take anything he said seriously," she said. "He's wrong about you."

He scoffed. "If you're worried that _Weasley_ hurt my feelings, then don't," he said, returning to his signature haughty tone.

She smiled. "I wouldn't dream of worrying about that," she mocked.

"Good."

She leaned against him. "He's gone now, by the way. He stormed out after Harry tried to calm him down."

He said nothing, just stared at the street before them. A lone taxi passed by and splashed a small wave of water onto the curb.

She bit the inside of her cheek, anxiety for him beginning to nibble away at her insides. "Want to come inside?" she asked.

He shook his head, pushing his hair back with his free hand. "I'd prefer to sit out here for a while longer."

"Can I keep you company?"

He nodded. "Sure."

They sat in silence for a while, watching the light of day fade slowly into darkness. She rubbed her arms, feeling the night cold begin to nip at her skin.

He turned to her, tightening his hold around her. "Are you getting cold?"

She nodded. "Are you? I should grab my wand from inside, then I can cast a warming charm."

"Let's just go inside. I should probably say goodbye to Potter and Potterette before I leave."

Disappointment sank heavy in her gut. "You're leaving already?"

"Dinner's over, isn't it? I'm not exactly in the mood for dessert," he said, offering her a weak smile.

"Will you go to your mother's?"

He nodded and started bouncing his knee like he was nervous. "Probably."

She took a deep breath. "You should just stay the night here with me," she said.

He paused for a few moments before shaking his head. "I shouldn't be here."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Dinner was nice—up until…a certain point—nicer than I expected, but I won't overstay my welcome. I don't exactly belong here, now do I?"

His words made her angry—angry at Ron, angry at the ministry, angry at the world for putting them on opposite sides of the war and causing these problems in the first place. "You belong wherever you want to be, Draco," she told him firmly, "and that extends to Harry and Ginny's house—especially when I'm here."

He didn't respond.

She leaned into him, nudging him meaningfully. "I'm serious. You don't have to go. Harry and Ginny would love to have you here." She reached up to press a kiss to his neck.

He snorted and shook his head before smiling at her wryly. "You don't have to lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you!" she insisted. "I mean it! Nobody here is going to turn you away. Just because Ron is being a prejudiced bastard doesn't mean you have to write off Harry and Ginny too. You and Harry got along just fine tonight, didn't you?"

He shrugged, continuing to bounce his knee. She stared at it, finding it very unusual for him to be acting so jittery.

"And Ginny adores you, I can tell," she continued. "You two hit it right off."

"I suppose."

His lack of witty responses was concerning.

"Draco, you're a very charming man. You can win anyone over that you wish to. And more importantly, you're the man that I love. You belong wherever I am, and vice versa. I won't have it any other way."

He stilled at that. His face softened and his smile turned affectionate. He watched her with warm gray eyes before leaning down and kissing her. She pulled him closer, kissing him back with all the love she could convey.

He pulled back, resting his forehead on hers. "I love you, Granger," he said.

She beamed, feeling happiness spike within her. "I love you too."

"I have to be the luckiest man on earth," he chuckled. "It's a good thing I went to your book store of all places that day."

"Me, too," she agreed. "It's funny though, isn't it? That this was all because of a muggle bookshop? Who would have thought?"

He shook his head. "I never would have guessed in a million years."

"Will you please stay the night with me? Just one night, and you can leave in the morning." She smiled up at him hopefully.

He sighed heavily, rising to his feet and offering his hand. She accepted it and he pulled her to her feet. "I can't deny you, Granger. You'll be the death of me."

She grinnned, victorious, and they walked hand in hand back into the house.

Harry didn't even so much as frown when Hermione asked if Draco could stay. He nodded fervently in approval. Ginny had smiled knowingly and asked if they'd prefer to move to a different room, further upstairs for more privacy. At this, Harry had scowled before rubbing his eyes and muttering under his breath. Ginny laughed it off, telling Draco he was welcome to stay as long as he wished.

"It's a big flat," she said. "It's not like we can't spare the room. We love visitors," she assured him.

After that, Harry had called his goodnight and headed up the stairs. Draco offered to help with the dishes, but Hermione and Ginny refused, saying it was their turn to clean up anyway. He was still being very jittery, so Hermione made Draco some chamomile tea and sent him upstairs to relax while she finished clearing the table with Ginny.

"Are you really okay?" Ginny asked her after a few minutes of nothing but clanking dishes and running sink water.

Hermione shrugged. "Just tired. Fighting with Ron always exhausts me."

"What about you and Draco? You guys fight sometimes, too, right? Harry said you two bickered that night like he'd never seen."

She rolled her eyes. "That was a different circumstance. There was a lot going on that night. I mean, we have had a fair amount of fights, but it's not like when Ron and I used to fight. Our dynamic is very different."

"You two seem surprisingly similar—you and Draco, I mean. I never understood why you wanted to date my brother. They say opposites attract, but I think you and Ron were far too different to ever make it work."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Draco and I do have a lot in common. We have far more chemistry than Ron and I ever did." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Let's not compare Draco to Ron right now, okay? I don't even want to think about that."

Ginny shrugged. "Alright. So what are you going to do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"With your life, silly. No more hiding away in France, right? I mean—I know you said you still want to go back. I wish you wouldn't, but it's your life…" She lifted her wand and charmed the plates to wash themselves. "But you will have to make some changes, regardless of whether you go back or not."

Hermione caught a freshly rinsed plate from the air and began to dry it with a towel before placing it on the drying rack. "I don't know how to go about it, honestly. I work at the bookshop under a false identity, and obviously I can't continue doing that. But being Hermione Granger means I'll lose the friendships I've made with Marion and Florence. They're the only people I've had in my life since I moved there and it won't be easy to say goodbye."

"You can just meet them again as yourself, can't you?" the redhead asked, leaning against the counter and watching Hermione.

She shrugged. "It wouldn't be the same, though."

Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile. "No, it wouldn't."

"I want to be myself again," she confessed. "I'm tired of hiding, I really am."

"Good," Ginny acknowledged. "Because it's very unlike the brave Hermione I know to hide away from the world and avoid solving her problems."

Hermione sighed. "I want to pursue healing again. I like the challenge."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Of course you do. You love challenges. And I think you'll do great as a healer."

"Thanks. I just need to get my life sorted."

"Well if anyone can do it, you can."

"I know. Thanks, Gin," she smiled.

"And you will visit, right?"

"I promise."

"Good. Because if you disappear again, I won't forgive you," she teased.

"I know, I know. I will visit—cross my heart," Hermione said.

Ginny frowned in confusion. "What?"

The brunette shook her head. "You and Draco, I swear… It's a muggle saying. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a… just never mind."

Ginny watched her with wide eyes. "Why would anyone hope to die?"

She laughed. "Just forget it. I've got to stop using that phrase."

They finished washing and drying the dishes, then went up the stairs together. They parted at the top of the stairs.

"You and Draco have a good night," Ginny said with a wink. "Don't forget to cast a silencing charm," she called behind her as she walked to her and Harry's room.

Hermione shook her head at her girl friend's antics before entering the room she was sharing with Draco. She pulled her wand out of her pocket and cast a quick _Mufflato_ as she opened the door. Knowing Draco, he would probably pounce before she made it all the way in the door. She grinned at the thought.

Any trace of a smile vanished at the sight that greeted her.

Draco was rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed, gripping his forearms tightly enough to turn the skin a violent splotchy red. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were squeezed closed. He looked like he was in pain.

She rushed to his side. "Draco?" she called, her voice betraying the panic she was feeling.

He jumped when she reached out for him. "Granger," he said, his voice tight.

Her eyes ran over him, trying to figure out what was wrong. "What's going on?" she asked, reaching out to touch his cheek. "Are you injured? What happened?"

He shook his head and closed his eyes tightly again. "Just a bad night," he responded. "Hurts." His grip on his forearms tightened.

Hermione knelt before him, prying his fingers from his arms. "Draco, stop it! You're hurting yourself! What's happening? I don't understand."

He sighed, pulling away from her and rubbing his face. "It's the bind on my magic. Feels like I'm bursting out of my skin. Hurts my joints. Muscles feel like they're on fire, I just…" he trailed off, pushing his hair back in a very distressed manner.

Her eyes widened and she rose slowly to her feet. She'd read about this before. She had come across an old book in the restricted section of the Hogwarts Library that mentioned a handful of accounts of magical persons with their magic bound for their crimes. The last time magical binding was used as a permanent solution was on a wizard in the late 1800's. He died not even six short years later, for no apparent reason at all, at a very young age for a wizard.

Binding a person's magic often caused physical side effects like the ones Draco had just mentioned—a burning sensation, a tightness, and joint pain. Eventually it caused mania and could drive the witch or wizard past the point of insanity, if it didn't kill them first. But this supposedly took time—after the initial adjustment of not being able to use one's magic, it was at least two and a half or three years before the serious damage was done. Draco had only been bound for sixteen months!

"How often does this happen?" she asked, feeling worry consume her.

He shrugged, his eyes still squeezed closed. "Just sometimes. Helps when I drink. It makes it quiet."

Her heart broke for him. She spurred into action, turning to the door and running down the hallway. She hurried to Harry and Ginny's bedroom door, where she knocked. After a few seconds, Ginny opened the door, casting light into the hallway.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

Hermione plastered a smile on her face and nodded. "I was wondering if you had any calming drought by chance?"

She nodded. "We're always stocked on calming drought. Harry still gets nightmares sometimes. One second."

She left the door wide open and disappeared into their bathroom. The sound of the shower echoed into the room. Hermione tried to wait patiently and bit her lip nervously.

Ginny returned soon afterward, handing her a small dark bottle. "Need anything else?"

"No, that's everything. Thanks, Gin. Sorry to bug you."

Ginny shook her head. "Not a problem. Have a good night," she said with another wink before closing the door.

Hermione raced back to her and Draco's bedroom. She approached Draco, who was hunched over on the edge of the bed with his eyes squeezed shut tight, gripping his hair in fists.

"Take this," she encouraged, opening the bottle.

He opened his eyes—they were unfocused. Upon seeing the calming drought, he grabbed the bottle and dipped it back.

After a good two swallows from the bottle, she hurriedly took it back from him. "Not too much," she reminded him. "Just enough to help you calm down."

"Sorry," he muttered, pushing his left hand through his hair again.

She pulled his hand from his hair and brought both of them to her face. "Draco, Draco, look at me. Draco, please look at me," she pleaded.

He obliged, opening his eyes and focusing on her, but he looked downright flighty, like he was going to bolt at any moment.

"Focus on me, okay? Do you hear me? Focus on my voice until it washes everything else out. Are you listening?"

He gave a jerky nod, his eyes focusing on her lips.

"Remember that night we sat out on the swinging bench on your porch?"

He gritted his teeth, his jaw muscle going taut.

"It was the third time I'd slept at your house, and we baked zucchini that night. It was so good—with olive oil, garlic, cheese, and tomatoes, remember that? You said it was the easiest meal you'd ever heard of and I dared you to make it yourself sometime, so you made it every day for the next four days until I banned it from any future meals ever again."

The corner of his lip turned up into a small smile, but his eyes still held pain.

"Anyway," she continued, "after we finished eating, we sat on that swinging bench. It was so cold, but we bundled up in jackets and scarves and hats… We must have had at least three blankets on us each. You said it was far to cold to go outside, but I wanted to sit on that swing, so you agreed. We sat out there for hours. Our fingers went numb, I'm surprised we didn't get frostbite, honestly. Your nose was so red! But we stayed out there because it was so silent and perfect, and you could see the stars shining so brightly way out there. You startied to read _Middlemarch_ to me out loud because I'd mentioned how much I love the sound of your voice. I started drifting off a bit, but then you read a certain line and you paused. What was the line, do you remember?"

He smiled again, and this time it looked a little less pained than the last. He cleared his throat. "Character is not cut in marble. It is not something solid and…unalterable. It is something living and changing and may become diseased as our bodies do," he recited.

She grinned, kissing his jaw and willing it to relax. "It's a perfect line, don't you think? You said you were glad I'd chosen this book for us to read, that it was your new favorite quote."

He nodded rigidly. "It is. I liked that book quite a lot."

She kissed his cheek. "I like it too. George Eliot has to be one of the most impressive modern writers of her age. _Middlemarch_ has been cited as the greatest novel in the English language, you know."

"I think you just liked it for the romantic quotes," Draco teased, speaking through gritted teeth. "_Middlemarch_ was…romantic. I think that maybe…that maybe you're far more of a romantic than you claim to be."

She laughed. "You may be right," she agreed. "About me being a romantic. But not the first part. _Middlemarch_ offered far more than theories of Romance. It had a very complex storyline, and many more themes besides romance. The status of women, the nature of marriage, idealism, religion, self-interest, hypocrisy, political reform, education—"

"You really turn me on when you do that," he laughed.

Feeling encouraged by his ability to speak in full sentences again, she straddled his lap and took his face in her hands. He wrapped his arms around her, holding onto her for dear life.

"Good, I'm glad you like that about me."

"That you're smart?" He rolled his eyes, but it didn't look natural or easy like when he usually did it. He was still gripping the back of her sweater tightly. "How could I not? You're unlike anyone I've ever met."

She smiled. "How are you feeling?"

He shook his head jerkily. "Considerably better, thanks to you."

She leaned forward. "Then kiss me," she whispered against his lips.

And he did. His lips crashed into hers and he threaded his fingers through her hair.

She reached under his collar and ran her fingers over his back, savoring every hard surface, every plane and contour, every inch of him. He pulled her closer to him, and she could feel his arousal pressing into her. She broke away from his kiss to let out a moan at the hot desire that spiked through her, and he moved his lips to her neck, kissing and sucking on her skin gently. She started to unbutton his shirt clumsily, but only undid about half the buttons before he reached down and pulled his shirt off altogether, throwing it on the floor behind her. She ran her hands over his torso with a newfound fervor, reveling in the way his breath hitched when she ground into him.

"These need to come off," he growled, pulling her sweater over her head and dropping it to the ground. His eyes roamed over her bare skin hungrily, and he unhooked her bra. She tossed it away just as he took a pink nipple in his mouth, running his tongue over her rosy bud. She gasped, throwing her head back and tangling her fingers in his hair.

He leaned back, bringing her with him, before rolling over and pressing her into the mattress. He made fast work removing her jeans, rising from the bed to rid himself of his dress pants as well.

She stretched out on the bed, eyeing him with pleasure as he crawled over to her. He moved her legs apart, locking eyes with her as his mouth descended on her. She closed her eyes and gasped as he pleasured her with his tongue. He threw himself into pleasing her, and it wasn't long before she was writhing and begging for him to make love to her.

He made his way up her body, kissing a trail back to her mouth before he pushed into her.

_"__Draco,"_ she moaned, pulling him close and digging her fingertips into his back, begging him closer.

He moved in and out of her at just the right angle, the way he knew made her crazy. He groaned against her lips, losing himself in her.

They spent the next while finding pleasure in one another's bodies before they fell over the edge together, with one another's names on their lips.

Afterwards, with Hermione curled up in his arms, Draco drifted off to a peaceful and dreamless sleep.


	47. Trepidation

At the first light of morning, Hermione slowly disentangled herself from Draco's arms. She rose slowly from the bed, so as not to wake him, and stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her. She heard the sound of dishes from downstairs and immediately followed the sound.

She entered the kitchen to find Harry setting the kettle on the stove.

"Harry," she greeted, relieved to have caught him before he left for work.

"Morning," he greeted sleepily. His hair stood in all different directions and his work robes looked rather haphazardly thrown on.

"I'm glad I caught you before you left," she began, "I need to talk you to about something."

Sensing it was something serious, he nodded, giving her his full attention. "I'm listening."

"It's about Draco. Do you know anything about magical binding?"

He shook his head. "No, not really. Just that the ministry doesn't practice it very often anymore."

"It's…" She sighed. "It takes a terrible toll on the individual whose magic is bound. It causes physical manifestations of pain when they can't use their magic, and it eventually drives the person insane. It's been known to cause premature death, that's why it isn't used often anymore, and it's only used for short periods of time. Any time longer than four years, and it will kill the person."

Harry frowned. "What?"

She nodded. "Draco's had his magic bound for sixteen months, but last night he had some kind of attack."

He straightened. "Attack? Is he okay?"

"He was hunched over in pain when I found him last night. He couldn't even speak in full sentences because the pain was so bad. He was pulling at his hair and gripping his arms hard enough to bruise… It was terrifying."

Harry looked both thoughtful and horrified by the information. "Well, we need to bring it to Kingsley's attention then."

She instantly relaxed. "Thank you, Harry. I agree. He told me he's been using alcohol to numb the symptoms. I had no idea this was even going on, he's never told me about it before. He's so private sometimes. He doesn't ask for help when he's suffering."

"Are you okay?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She gave a sad smile and sighed. "Yes, I just hate seeing him hurt."

He nodded in understanding. "Okay. Wel,l I'll arrange a meeting for Draco with Kingsley when I get to work. I'll owl you the time."

"Thank you, Harry."

"No problem. I'm here to help."

She hugged him. "Thank you for everything. I mean it. I don't know what I would do without you."

He grinned, hugging her back. "You too, Mione. I'll talk to you later today."

She nodded before leaving the kitchen. As she crept back into her bedroom, she watched Draco sleeping so peacefully. She pushed his hair back out of his face and kissed his cheek. He didn't even stir, so soundly was he sleeping. She crawled back into bed, curling up against him. She kissed the top of his back, pulling the covers up over them.

He didn't have to ask her for help. She would get him what he needed. Draco Malfoy would hurt no longer.

When Harry arrived at his office twenty minutes later, there was a certain red-haired hothead leaning against his door.

"Morning, Ron," he sighed.

"Harry," he greeted sharply.

"What's the problem now?" Harry asked irritably.

Ron eyes widened dramatically. "You know what the problem is! Same as it was yesterday!"

"Ron, I don't have time to go round in circles with you today," he said as he unlocked his door with his wand. He opened the door and entered his office, Ron following behind. "Your outburst last night was rude, mate. You really upset Hermione."

"Good! She needs to be upset! She needs to think long and hard about what she's doing!"

"When have you known Hermione to make any kind of decision without thinking long and hard about it? She knows _exactly_ what she's doing. You just need to trust her."

"I…I do trust Hermione. I mean, not a lot. I'm angry at her right now. She ran away, Harry! She left us all in the dark for _two years._ Why would she do that?"

"She had her reasons," Harry said as he sat in his chair. "I don't agree with why she did it, mind you, but she did it all the same. It doesn't matter anymore—she's here now."

"So you're just going to forget it ever happened? You're just going to forget that you spent the last year and a half traveling to different countries all over the world to find her? We thought she was _dead!_"

"She didn't know we thought she was dead. She told me herself."

"How can you just let this go?"

"Because she's our best friend, Ron! That's what we do for the people we love—we forgive them. She's carried more than her weight of burden over the last ten years. She helped me with the most difficult task I've ever had to complete—how many times did she save us during the war? While we were at Hogwarts? So yes, I _can_ let this go. She's sacrificed more than most. She's more than earned our forgiveness. What we need to _not _do is push her further away! She's back in our lives now, Ron. Everything is as it should be. Don't push her away. Or this time she _will_ leave for good, and you won't see her ever again. Have you thought about that? Did you think about that when you were yelling at her in my bloody kitchen?"

Ron set his mouth in an angry fashion. "No," he grumbled.

"No, you didn't. You have a terrible temper, and you always lash out at Hermione the worst. You've always done that, ever since we were eleven. Well, I'm not going to stand by and allow you to do it any more. If you can't be civil to her, then don't come round. Just leave her alone. Merlin knows she's suffered enough in her life without you punishing her for every decision she makes that you don't understand!"

Ron watched him with wide eyes.

He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, sighing at the exhaustion he was feeling from his rant. "Ron, you need to think before you act, mate."

"Well excuse me for worrying about her safety. She's shacking up with a bloody _death eater._"

"Oh, come off it. Draco Malfoy is not a death eater. I saw him during sixth year—I'm not certain he wanted to be a death eater in the first place. Remember that time I found him crying in the bathroom? Like he was just a scared kid. He's not as bad as you make him out to be."

"Not as bad?" Ron laughed, his face reddening in frustration. "Harry, whether or not he was scared, he still did terrible things! He has a criminal history!"

"A criminal history that he paid for. He paid his dues. He served his time. And he's come out of this far better than even I thought was possible. Do you know he does his business with muggles? He met Hermione in a bloody muggle bookshop, for crying out loud. He's changed, mate. He's still bloody irritating, and a bit of a pretentious prick, but he's not a bad person."

Ron stared at him like he was an alien. "I can't believe this. I can't believe you're all falling for his act."

Harry sighed. "What act, Ron?"

"If he's got Hermione _and _you convinced he's alright, then he's obviously putting on a show."

"Why would he put on a show for us?"

"To make his way back into society! He's using Hermione, Harry! And he's using you now, too!"

"To what end?"

"So he can become the rich, snotty aristocrat he used to be! He can't even do business in Britain anymore, everyone hates him! That's why he had to go back to France! Because nobody trusts him. But if he has us to back him up, then he can just come back to his old life! He wants to be on top again!"

Harry considered his words carefully before thinking back on the previous night. He always treated Hermione with such care. Even when he was angry—back at Malfoy's house, when he'd come bursting in unannounced. He didn't say a single ugly thing to Hermione when they were fighting. Nothing hurtful. He thought back on the subtle touches and the kisses Draco and Hermione exchanged when they thought no one was paying attention. But he _had _been paying attention. He'd noticed the care Malfoy exhibited when it came to his best friend—how could he not? He shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that. I think he really cares about Hermione."

Ron rose to his feet angrily. _"I_ care about Hermione. He's pretending. He's using her."

"And yet, he's not the one verbally attacking her about her personal decisions, now is he?" Harry retorted harshly.

Ron huffed angrily. "I'm right, you'll see. You'll see that once he gets everything he wants, he'll drop Hermione like a bad habit." And with that, he stormed out of the office.

Harry leaned forward onto his desk, cursing Ron for ruining his day at such an early hour. He got out a piece of parchment and a quill, beginning to write his letter to Kingsley to request a meeting with Malfoy.

It was not without some trepidation, though.

Ron's words echoed in his ears, and he wondered, not for the first time, if the Slytherin had less than pure intentions. He hoped this was not some Malfoy scheme.

Only time would tell.

**I think Harry would be very careful in his judgment with Draco, seeing as his best friend is dating him. Will Draco win over Harry's trust? Hmmmm...**


	48. Brunches and Lying Voices

**I would love to just write and write and write and update every single day, but alas, I don't have time! Weekends are my busiest time, but I've written a chapter for you guys :) There will be more rapid updating this week hopefully. I'm planning on moving at the end of this week though, so probably no updates next weekend. More fluff and drama coming your way! Enjoy!**

When Hermione woke up for the second time that morning, Draco was lying on his side next to her, propped up by his elbow.

"Good morning," he greeted with a roguish smile.

"Good morning," she returned with a smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "How are you feeling?"

His smile faded a bit and he cleared his throat. "Fine, I'm feeling fine. Listen, about last night—I'm sorry you saw me like that, I'd really prefer we not talk about it…at all. Even thinking about it triggers the pain so let's change the conversation, shall we? What should we do today?"

She blinked, internalizing his words.

"I'm thinking we should go on a very lavish date today," Draco rattled on before she could think of a response. "What do you say we start with going to a nice brunch?"

"Alright," she agreed. "Don't you have to visit your mother today?"

"I can visit her tonight. Right now I just want to spend time with you."

She smiled, rolling over to curl up into him. "It's sounds to me like you're procrastinating, Mr. Malfoy. Also, Harry is arranging a meeting for you with Kingsley, so we can't be gone too long."

He frowned at this. "Potter is arraging a meeting with the minister?"

She nodded. "I didn't even ask him, he did it all on his own."

He flopped onto his back with a groan. "Why is Potter always doing things like that for me?" he grumbled.

"Because Harry takes care of the people he cares about, and by association, the people who the people he cares about care about."

He frowned. "That's not confusing at all."

She laughed and pressed a kiss to his chest. "I love you. Harry knows this, so you fall in that category."

He rubbed his face. "No, he's been trying to help me for years—even back when you all despised me. The room of Requirement, the court hearings…all of that."

She shrugged. "Harry helps people, he just does."

"Sounds like he's got a bit of a hero complex."

She laughed. "Can you blame him? He had to be a hero all his life."

"Remind me to send him a fruit basket."

She shook her head, running her fingers up his chest. "Harry doesn't want a fruit basket."

"Then I don't know what to do."

"You don't have to do anything, silly. Harry doesn't help people because he wants something, he helps people because it's the right thing to do."

He sighed, closing his eyes and resting his arm over his forehead. "That's why he was the chosen one, and not me."

"You're _my_ chosen one," she teased.

He squinted one eye at her from under his arm. "Hermione Granger, that's sounding a bit kinky for this early of an hour, don't you think?"

She grinned. "Like you'd complain about such a thing."

"I wouldn't," he agreed, before jumping up and pouncing on her.

She shrieked playfully as he moved her arms up over her head, holding them down against the pillow. With one hand keeping a firm grip on her wrists, he ran his fingers along the inside of her thigh and began pressing soft kisses just below her jaw. Her breath hitched.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, causing Draco to groan. He let Hermione push him back onto the bed and he pulled the covers up over his naked form.

"One moment!" Hermione called as she rose from the bed, grabbing her dressing robe from the corner and looping it around her waist.

"If that's Potterette wanting to join us, tell her I'm not interested," he drawled.

Hermione threw him a dirty look before opening the door.

"I heard that," Ginny said sourly in greeting. "And...in your dreams."

"My dreams don't involve the hero of the wizarding world's wife, actually," he called back. "Just his curly haired best friend."

Ginny arched an eyebrow before focusing on Hermione—who was smiling bashfully. "I'm heading out to practice. We have a game tomorrow—which you're both invited to, by the way. Box seats—very posh."

Hermione grinned. "I wouldn't miss it."

"And an owl just came for you," Ginny continued as she handed her a sealed envelope. "From Harry. I probably won't be back until much later tonight, so I thought I'd say goodbye before I go. Sorry for interrupting," she grinned cheekily.

Hermione felt her cheeks turning red. "Not a problem. Thanks Gin. I'll see you later tonight."

"You should bring Draco to the game tomorrow," Ginny suggested with a knowing glint in her eye. "It'd be an interesting way to go public, if you're ready for that."

Hermione sighed. "The press would have a field day."

"They sure would," Ginny laughed. "It's up to you. I'll let you get back to your…you know." She winked before turning to head down the stairs.

Hermione closed the door behind her and returned to join Draco in bed. She opened the envelope and pulled out the note from Harry.

_3 p.m. in Kingsley's office. His floo will be open for you and Draco at 2:55. The Chief Warlock will be there. See you then. –Harry_

She handed the note to Draco, who read it immediately, his eyebrows pinching together in concentration.

He brought his wrist up to looked at his watch. "Well, we've got four hours, then," he sighed. "The Chief Warlock will be there? Merlin's beard…"

"It'll be fine," she soothed.

He sat up slowly, looking tired. "The Chief Warlock doesn't like me very much-but sure, whatever you say. Alright, well I'm going to shower. Care to join me?"

"I do care to join you," she grinned, rising from the bed. He spanked her as she walked past him. She threw a grin over her shoulder as she left the room. Grinning right back, Draco set the note on the bed and followed after her in all his naked glory.

"Aren't you hungry?" Hermione asked him, two hours later. They were sitting at a small Muggle café in downtown London. Seeing as they were in a Muggle side of town, and she had Draco by her side, Hermione had decided she no longer needed to hide in disguise. Everyone was going to know she was back tomorrow, anyway.

Draco had been moving his lemon glazed salmon around with his fork for the last ten minutes, spending more time staring thoughtfully out the large window they sat by than focusing on their meal.

He sighed. "I'm not very hungry, actually."

"Are you nervous about the meeting?"

He straightened. "Of course not."

"So you are then," she concluded, taking another bite of her strawberry pecan salad.

He frowned, but his eyes glinted in amusement. "I just told you I wasn't."

Hermione swallowed and smiled knowingly up at him. "You were using your lying voice."

He narrowed his eyes. "My lying voice?"

She nodded, stabbing her greens with her fork. "I know you very well, Draco. You're practically transparent to me," she teased.

He snorted, turning his attention to the plate in front of him. "Am not."

"Are too," she said, taking another bite.

He brought a forkful of salmon to his mouth, staring at it for a few seconds, before placing it back down on his plate. "No one has ever told me I have a lying voice before. I think you're making it up."

"I'd dare to say that no one has had the opportunity to get to know you as well as I have."

He regarded her thoughtfully. "That might be true." He took a drink of his water.

"It's okay to be nervous," she told him. "I'm nervous, and it's not even my meeting."

He arched his eyebrow. "Your confidence in me is astounding," he said sarcastically.

"I'm not nervous because I'm worried for you," she defended. "I mean I am, but not because I don't have confidence in you. I have absolute confidence in you. You know I do. I think the world of you."

He rolled his eyes. "Careful, you'll overinflate my already grandiose sense of self-importance."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Have you written your mother yet?" she asked, changing the subject.

He rubbed his eyes, resting his elbow on the table. "No."

"How is your mother these days?"

"Busy. Nosy. Doing well, overall, as far as I know. She's always nagging me to visit her."

"Have you…" She shifted in her seat. "Have you told her about us?"

His eyes widened a fraction before he turned his attention back to his plate and he picked up his fork again. "Not yet."

She nodded but otherwise remained silent.

"I just haven't had the opportunity," he said as he took a bite of his salmon. "But I plan to," he promised, looking sincere.

She glanced up at him, keeping quiet and fighting the urge to ask a hundred invasive questions on the matter.

"I'd imagine she'll be…thrilled."

She set her fork down with a clatter. "Are you being sarcastic?"

"No," he insisted with a shake of his head. "She's taken very well to the whole new, open-minded mentality since the war. She's done a lot of funding with your program—did I ever mention that?"

She shook her head. "What program?"

"For the families of Muggleborn Hogwarts students. What was it called…"

"Are you talking about my Magical Acclimation program?" she asked in confusion.

"I think so. Potter put it into full affect a little over a year ago. Did he ever tell you?"

She sat back in her seat, a smile slowly making its way across her face. "No, he didn't. They installed my program at Hogwarts?"

He nodded. "My mother is its main contributor."

She blinked, running over the information he had just given her. She felt a burst of pride at the knowledge. "That's wonderful," she said as she grinned. "I had no idea. Oh, thank you!"

He laughed, shaking his head. "What are you thanking _me_ for?"

"For your family's contributions," she said, feeling slightly embarrassed. "For telling me they launched my program, for…" She sighed happily. "I'm so glad Harry did that. It'll be so good for those families. This made my day!"

He watched her with a smile on his face, his eyes warming considerably. "Charity work makes your day? That's one of the things I love about you," he chuckled.

She leaned forward and kissed him over their small table. He grinned.

"So you really think your mother won't mind that we're…dating?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Every time she writes me, she tries to set me up with a daughter of her friends. She wants me to settle down, she's always nagging me about how she was already pregnant by the time she was my age. So no, I don't think she'll _mind_ that I'm dating somebody. She'll be relieved, to say the least."

Hermione nodded, feeling an enormous weight lift off her shoulders. She would be lying if she said she hadn't worried about how Draco's mother would take the news of their relationship. She hadn't said anything to him about it—how could she? She hadn't told her own family about them until recently—but the thought had plagued her mind since she realized she loved him.

She smiled happily as she continued eating her lunch.

"Let's go dancing tonight," Draco said.

She looked up at him in surprise. "Dancing?"

"Do you know how to dance?"

She shook her head and laughed. "My dancing abilities consist of what I had to learn for the Yule Ball in fourth year."

"We'll have to rectify that," he decided, taking another bite of his food.

She watched him with amusement in her eyes. "I'm assuming that you're a very talented dancer?"

He scoffed. "Of course."

She grinned, setting her fork down on her empty plate. "Alright, I think I'm up for that."

"Good," he concluded, smiling back at her.

By the time they finished their lunch it was nearing two-thirty. They decided to go back to Grimmauld Place, where they would floo directly to Kingsley's office at 2:55.

Eight minutes before they needed to leave, Draco donned his suit jacket and began pacing in front of the fireplace.

Hermione sat on the couch, watching him, trying to appear calm for his sake.

"I need a drink," he muttered.

"I don't think now is a good time for one," she told him quietly.

He sighed darkly, not looking at her. "I know."

"How are you…feeling?"

He waved her off. "Fine, I'm fine."

"Come sit by me," she encouraged.

He stopped pacing and looked at her. Desperation shined back at her through his gray eyes, and he bit the inside of his cheek before glancing at the fireplace. Finally, he joined her on the couch.

She sat on his lap, taking his hand in hers and brushing a kiss on his knuckle. "Where are we going dancing tonight?"

"What?"

"Dancing," she repeated. "You and me—where?"

He blinked. "I hadn't planned it out yet, but I know there are several ballrooms in London. Muggles love to dance, did you know that?" he asked. "There's lots of good dancing in the Muggle community. I've been to several ballrooms in Muggle Paris since I moved to France."

He absently began massaging his elbow as he talked, and she recalled his words from earlier that morning. _Even thinking about it triggers the pain…_

"What's your favorite kind of dance? There's several types, aren't there?" she asked, trying to distract him.

He frowned thoughtfully. "The waltz. But the Americans are very fond of a style of dance called Swing—they're partial to it, I'd say. That one is quite fun; I like it quite a bit. Not overly popular in France, but fun…" he trailed off absently.

"I'm apologizing in advance in case I step on your toes at some point," she joked.

He looked up at her as if he'd forgotten they were having a conversation before chuckling. "I'll find a way to forgive you," he teased. He plastered a smile on his face, but it looked forced.

Unsure of what else to do, she kissed him.

It took him a few seconds, but he eventually relaxed as he began to pour himself into the kiss. He ran his fingers along her jaw, gripping her waist with his other hand and pulling her closer. After a few minutes, she pulled back.

"What time is it?" she asked.

He glanced at his watch. "Time to go," he concluded, the lines in his forehead deepening.

She rose from his lap and he stood, taking her hand in his. They walked to the fireplace and each took a handful of floo powder from the jar on the mantle.

"You go first," Draco decided.

She smiled and kissed him one more time before stepping into the fireplace. "Minister of Magic's office," she announced clearly before throwing the powder down. There was a rush of green flame, and she felt herself twirled away.


	49. The Meeting

**Omg you guys-what a week I've had. I have the flu! Pity me! It's terrible! Ugh!**

**So I had to write this chapter twice because Microsoft Word did a weird crashing thing where it turned the entire chapter into asterisks. Very strange. I tried everything-nothing would fix it. So I started over. Probably better this time around anyway, seeing as I was mostly deliriously sick the first time I wrote it. Now I'm less delirious. More sick, though. Boo flu season. I forgot to get the shot this year. I'm dumb.**

**Anyway, guess who is moving tomorrow? Meeee! Good news-my own place for me and my son, and my kitty! Bad news-no internet set up yet. I don't even know how to do that shit. My ex husband always set up the techy stuff for me when we were married, and my roommates always did it before that. So I guess I'll be super tech savvy by the time this weekend rolls around because I'll have to figure it out on my own now. I'll be sure to write and come over to my mom's to upload a chapter if getting my internet takes a considerable amount of time. She lives like 45 seconds away from where I'm moving. Time will tell if that's a good thing or not...**

**Enough Nyquil rambles! Here's the good stuff:**

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, casting her eyes about the room. She was surprised to find quite a few more people attending this meeting than she had previously expected.

There was a middle-aged woman sitting in a chair across the room—a mediwitch, she recognized, because of the green robes with the symbol for St. Mungo's on the left side of her chest. Two members of the Wizengamot, with their black robes and hats, were standing next to the minister's desk behind Tuleus Akhor—the rather old and gray looking wizard who had been appointed to Chief Warlock after the war. On the other side of the room were two more wizards she had never seen before, but she recognized by their uniforms that they were Aurors. One was very tall with a full beard—looking rather serene. The other was shorter and stocky, with a rather red face. His square jaw rutted out in an angry manner, and he appeared to be stewing about something. _That can't be good,_ she thought.

Harry was nowhere to be seen. Where was he?

"Hello, Minister," she greeted nervously as all seven pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

The minister, who was speaking with the Chief Warlock, stopped his conversation and smiled at her.

"Miss Granger," he replied, walking over to her to shake her hand. "Lovely to see you again."

"Where…where's Harry?" she asked him in a hushed tone.

There was a rush of flames behind her and Draco stepped out of the fireplace, wearing a cool and calm expression. To everyone else in the room, he probably looked indifferent, but Hermione knew him too well for that. She recognized his cautious gait, the strain in his shoulders, and the tension in his jaw muscle from clenching his teeth. He was trying too hard—he was nervous. His eyes swept over the room briefly before he turned his attention to the Minister.

"Mr. Malfoy," the minister greeted, holding out his hand.

"Minister Shacklebolt," Draco replied, accepting his hand and shaking it.

"As I was about to tell Miss Granger here, I don't expect Harry will be coming. He mentioned a training session with the new Aurors at two and I doubt he will be finished in time."

Hermione sagged in disappointment. She reminded herself that Harry didn't necessarily _need_ to be here—he had arranged a meeting, and that was more than enough. They didn't need him to do everything.

Draco lightly touched his hand to her lower back briefly, as if reassuring her. She looked up at him, but his eyes were set straight ahead.

"Let's have a seat and we'll begin," Kingsley said, motioning towards his desk. "Gentlemen?"

The members of the Wizengamot took their seats on the far right side of the room, with the Chief Warlock Akhor sitting in the middle.

Draco and Hermione sat in two chairs directly in the middle of the room, and the minister moved to his side of the desk.

"Thank you all for being here. We will begin our review meeting by hearing from Mr. Malfoy. Aurors Gentry…McCoy…" he motioned towards the aurors, who nodded respectively as their names were called.

Hermione bristled at the name. McCoy was here? He was the auror who had hurt Draco! She turned to look at the stocky man and her eyes narrowed.

"…Will be going over Mr. Malfoy's record," Kingsley continued, "after which our Mediwitch—Bridget Halloway—will run some diagnostics on Mr. Malfoy. The Wizengamot will make their decision after we are finished," he concluded. There were nods all around—except from Draco, who was sitting still as a statue in his seat.

The minister sat in his chair, folding his arms and leaning onto his desk. "Mr. Malfoy, can you tell us why you required a meeting? Tell us a little about how you're feeling."

"How I'm feeling?" he repeated.

Hermione prayed to the powers above that he would refrain from using sarcasm.

"Well," he began tightly, "I'm in pain."

The minister nodded, waiting for him to continue.

Draco cleared his throat. "When my magic was bound, there was a considerable amount of pain, of course…but I…adjusted. I grew used to it after a while. But after the first year, it started again. I found a way to…manage it, but it's gotten worse and occurs more often than usual. I cope, but it's…it's not easy."

When he didn't say more, Hermione nudged him. "Tell them about the drinking," she encouraged softly.

He tensed, glancing at her irritably before sighing sharply. "I've managed the pain with…alcohol, but I have been discouraged by…those close to me…from using it as a coping method. But it's…it's too much." He swallowed. "I can't manage the pain sober," he finished. He clenched his jaw again.

Hermione's heart hurt for him.

When it became obvious that he was done, the minister nodded. "Thank you. Now Aurors Gentry and McCoy, will you summarize Draco's sentence so far for us?"

They rose to their feet as their names were called. Auror Gentry opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately cut off by McCoy.

"Mr. Malfoy," he began, casting a disapproving look in Draco's direction, "resides in a very large property in France. He has a history of being blatantly disrespectful and sarcastic towards figures of authority. He had his mother place wards on his house to prevent us from apparating into the building. He travels abroad often—usually to Paris, but as far as China—and he claims it is for business, but it is far too often for my liking. "

Hermione couldn't believe the amount of bias that was coming out of this man's mouth. She was loathing the man more and more with every word he spoke.

"A few weeks ago, the trace we placed in his home alerted us to the use of unregistered magic. He was not home when we arrived to do the sweep. When he finally _did_ arrive, he was highly uncooperative and evasive in his answers to our questions. He would not explain the origin of the unregistered magic, claiming that it was from a _friend_ casting a harmless charm. He refused to give us a name."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off as Draco reached for her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. She turned back to him. He shook his head abruptly and she snapped her mouth shut—although she was thoroughly displeased about it.

"We confiscated a magical ring from his person," McCoy continued, "and the diagnostic spells revealed that it was spelled with blood magic."

"It wasn't—" Hermione began again.

_"Hermione,"_ Draco hissed, shaking his head once more. She scowled at him.

"We have the ring in the Auror department," McCoy finished, eyeing Hermione irritably. He turned back to the minister, looking far too smug for Hermione's liking. She refrained from commenting again, instead settling on stewing in fury.

"Thank you, Auror McCoy," the minster concluded. "I have a few questions about that sweep. There was a report of an…altercation on that visit, was there not?"

McCoy blinked in surprise. "…Yes."

"And you were suspended for two weeks due to violent behavior towards Mr. Malfoy?"

McCoy's jaw set angrily again. "…Yes."

"Thank you Auror McCoy, that will be all."

McCoy sat down, glaring at Draco.

"Now," Kingsley continued, "has Mr. Malfoy ever violated his parole?"

McCoy opened his mouth to speak, but the minster cut him off.

"You've had your turn, Auror McCoy. I would like to hear from Auror Gentry now."

His mouth closed and he set his angry glare on the wall beside him.

Auror Gentry shook his head. "No, he has not."

"Has he ever missed a check-in appointment with his case workers?"

"No sir," came the bearded man's answer.

"Has he ever exhibited violent behavior?"

"No."

"Thank you. Will you tell us a bit more about the incident with Auror McCoy at Mr. Malfoy's home last week?"

The auror glanced nervously at his partner before addressing the minister. "Yes sir. We arrived at Mr. Malfoy's home to do a sweep and investigate reports of unregistered magic. Mr. Malfoy arrived in the middle of it—he wasn't pleased, but he didn't resist. Mr. Malfoy and Auror McCoy exchanged some words, and Auror McCoy struck him…twice. It broke some furniture…when Mr. Malfoy landed on it, I mean. Then Auror McCoy...kicked him…multiple times, while he was on the floor."

The Chief Warlock stirred slightly at this, exchanging a look with the Wizengamot members beside him. Hermione hoped that was a good sign.

"Anything else?" Kingsley asked him.

Auror Gentry shook his head. "No, sir."

"Thank you, Auror Gentry."

The auror sat back down.

Kingsley turned to Hermione. "Was there something you wanted to say, Miss Granger?"

She nodded. "It was my unregistered magic," she explained. "As I confessed when I arrived last week, I was living illegally in France. I traveled there by Muggle means and was living under an alias," she added for the Wizengamot. "I performed the magic—I charmed the walls of his study. And the magical ring—it wasn't blood magic. The spell called for _goat's_ blood, not human blood. It wasn't dark. We obtained the ingredients from a butcher. The spell was designed to charm the wearer of the ring with the ability to see through basic magical disguises and charms. I had disguised myself magically—altered my appearance—that was why I spelled the ring for Draco. He didn't tell the aurors it was my magic because he was protecting me. He was encouraging me to come back to Britain, to make things right, but I wasn't ready to come forward—that's why he didn't say it was my magic. He wasn't being illicit."

The minister nodded, turning to the Wizengamot. Akhor regarded her thoughtfully before nodding for the man to continue.

The minister turned back to Hermione. "Thank you, Miss Granger. Now, Mrs. Halloway?"

The mediwitch rose from her seat, retrieving her wand from her robes and turning to Draco with a kind smile.

"If you would run your tests, please," Kingsley instructed.

"Of course," she said, walking towards Draco.

He rose from his seat, joining her behind Hermione's chair.

The witch muttered spells under her breath while running her wand over Draco's body. Soft lights glowed over various parts of his body—yellow over his torso, red over his hands, elbows, shoulders, knees, and head, and blue over his arms and feet. When the lights faded, she muttered another spell under her breath, holding her wand over his chest.

A bright silver ball appeared in front of him. It had several spikes protruding from it—some small, but some very large with long spindling threads running from them. It glowed brightly, pulsing and looking very much like electricity.

The mediwitch's eyes widened. She expanded the ball, making it larger. Something was crackling in the center, causing it to look dangerous. Small silver spikes were rising and shifting along the surface—bending and turning back into itself. It looked very much like solar flares.

Hermione instinctively leaned away, her eyes widening in wonder.

She looked up at Draco's face—his eyes were wide as well, but he wasn't staring at it in wonder. He looked horrified.

The mediwitch glanced up at him before waving her wand and vanishing the silver ball. Without another look at Draco, she turned to the minister.

"His binding is volatile," she explained, holding her wand tightly in both hands. "He is experiencing pain in all the yellow and red areas that you saw. That spell shows pain on a scale—blue for minimum, yellow for moderate, and red for extreme. As you could see, the majority of his pain is moderate to extreme. That would be concerning enough, but what really worries me is his binding. That spell should show his magic in a tightly coiled in a silver ball. It should appear smooth and tight. His magic is expanding and seeping out—as you could see from the protruding spikes and slivers. That should not happen."

"Maybe the binding was done wrong," one member of the wizengamot suggested.

The mediwitch shook her head. "I supervised Mr. Malfoy after the procedure was done. The binding was performed correctly, it appeared as it should have."

The minister frowned, turning to the Chief Warlock, who looked thoughtful as he studied Draco intently.

Draco was staring into space, clenching his teeth. He appeared extremely focused. Hermione followed his trail of vision, but he wasn't looking at anything specific—he was just staring. A wave of pity and concern crashed over her.

The Chief Warlock turned to his companions before waving his wand. The room went silent—he must have performed a wordless _mufflato._ They conversed amongst themselves for a few moments.

The minister rose from his seat. "Mr. Malfoy, why don't you have a seat?" he suggested.

Draco didn't move. Hermione rose and took his hand, bringing him to his chair. He sat down slowly.

"Are you alright?" she asked, taking his hand in hers.

"I'm fine," he said, offering her the most pathetic attempt at a smile she had ever seen. "I just…it looked so different the last time I saw it."

The Wizengamot rose to their feet, and the youngest member spoke. "Miss Granger, Chief Warlock Akhor would like to speak with you in private."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Alright," she agreed, unsure of what they could possibly have to say to her. She rose to her feet, squeezing Draco's hand reassuringly before following the Chief Warlock out of Kingsley's office.

They exited the room and when she closed the door behind her, he turned to face her. He looked even older in the artificial lighting of the hallway. He had a very stern expression on his wrinkled face. His brown eyes looked dim. She wondered briefly exactly how old Tuleus Akhor was.

"Miss Granger, I would like to begin by saying I am very pleased to see you alive and well."

She blinked. "Thank you."

"That being said, I'm inquiring as to the nature of your…relationship with Draco Malfoy."

"The nature of…oh. Well…we're…together. Romantically. We're dating."

He looked thoughtful at this. "You spoke at his first hearing after the war."

"I did," she confirmed. He had been presiding over his trial that day—she remembered it well.

"How would you describe the change Mr. Malfoy had undergone since that day?"

She exhaled. "He's changed thoroughly. I think he's still at his core the same person he always was, but his values and beliefs have altered completely. I was shocked when I met him again. I…I was hesitant to acknowledge any change, initially. You can understand."

He nodded.

"But I…when I met him, he didn't recognize me. He didn't know who I was. Nobody did—I was living under a new identity. I was unrecognizable. I altered an old masking spell."

"Fascinating."

"To Draco, I was just…some muggle bookshop girl. He treated me like he would treat anyone else—well, I mean," she added hastily. "I've seen the way he acts with muggles now, the way he has embraced muggle culture… and I never thought I would live to see the day when Draco Malfoy changed from the…the racist elitist I knew as a child, but…" she shook her head. "He's not a danger to anyone but himself, Warlock Akhor. He really isn't. He's made changes in his life, in himself—and he's done it _for_ himself. He didn't change for anyone but himself, and that's the only change that really sticks with a person. I am genuinely impressed with and proud of the man he is today."

"What he did was noble," he concluded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He did not give you away when it was his record on the line—when the aurors came looking for unregistered magic. He put his own sentence in danger to protect someone else. That is not something I would expect from a Malfoy. Malfoys have typically only been concerned for themselves and their safety."

She blinked. "Draco is very loyal."

"Yes…I suppose he is. His family has always shown great loyalty—it is just a matter of to whom that loyalty is devoted to."

She wasn't sure what else to say, so she remained silent.

"My council and I have already made a decision," he told her. "We made our decision before I asked to speak with you, but I wanted to hear your opinion on the matter—I wanted to know, really, how he has spent his sentence. I'm glad to hear he has used his sentence time wisely," he concluded with a dip of his head. "Thank you for speaking with me. Let's get this over with, shall we?" He opened the door for her.

"Yes sir," she responded, thrown off by how terse the man's demeanor was and wondering what their decision would be. She re-entered the room, finding Draco's eyes. He frowned in puzzlement at her, but all she could do was shrug.

_Surely they will lift his binding,_ she thought as she sat down beside Draco once more. _They have to! It's the only humane course of action to take!_

The Chief Warlock gave Draco a calculating look—studying him, once again. He really had the most unreadable face Hermione had ever seen. Finally after a few moments, the old man turned to Kingsley.

"Remove the bind."

**I would like to add that I get a kick out of ya'll's reviews. Some of you guys are so funny! Thanks for leaving me feedback-ya'll have really good ideas, too. Love hearing from you all! You guys make my day!**


	50. Jellylegs

Joy leapt within Hermione's chest at his words. She turned to Draco, who was staring at the Chief Warlock in shock, and pulled him into a hug.

After a moment, he pulled out of his daze and hugged her back. _"Thank you," _he whispered in her ear. She just shook her head and kissed his cheek.

"Are you serious?" she heard from across the room. She whipped around in the direction of the voice to see Auror McCoy on his feet, a look of furious incredulity on his face. "Sir, I really must protest!" he said, stepping forward.

The Chief Warlock blinked irritably, looking completely unimpressed by the auror.

Hermione let go of Draco and took a step towards the stocky little man, but he took hold of her arm and stopped her.

"Don't," he advised. "He has a volatile temper. Just ignore him."

"Ignore him!" she exclaimed. "Draco, it's disgusting the way he treats you! He's a horrible little man!"

The corners of Draco's lips quirked up in amusement and his eyes turned affectionate.

"Warlock Akhor, Malfoy is a danger and a menace to society! Surely, you're not actually going to let him off the hook like this? Have you forgotten what he's done? What he is? He's a death eater!"

Draco bristled. Warlock Akhor calmly took a seat beside his advisors—like he couldn't be any less bothered with the man.

The minister stepped towards the auror, towering over him as his usually kind and friendly expression darkened. "Auror McCoy, I suggest you get a hold of your temper and treat your superiors with respect, or you will be spending the rest of your career behind a desk," he threatened, sounding both calm and dangerous.

McCoy blinked, then swallowed fearfully before turning his furious gaze to Draco. "You'll see I'm right. He's a Malfoy, sir. He's a criminal and a repeat offender!"

"McCoy," the minister barked out.

Auror Gentry put a hand on his arm. "Mate, let's go. The meeting is over."

He scowled at his partner. "Don't you even _talk_ to me right now," he spat before turning towards the door.

Auror Gentry smiled apologetically before following after him.

They all watched him go, and Hermione was relieved once he was gone. The minister shook his head as the door closed behind them, muttering irritably under his breath.

"I apologize for him, Warlock Akhor," the dark-skinned man said.

The oldest man simply nodded, returning to his usual silent state once more.

The mediwitch clapped her hands together. "Well, let's get this sorted then, shall we?" she suggested cheerfully.

Kingsley nodded, turning back to Draco. "I will contact the proper departments and we will get this squared away."

Hermione blinked. "Squared away? That sounds like it will take some time."

He nodded. "It does indeed, Miss Granger. Magical binding is dangerous, and it is not something to be done—or undone—in a moment's notice. We will need to schedule a time for the procedure."

Hermione deflated. How long would this take?

The minister's ebony eyes moved to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, how long were you planning on staying in town?"

"I was planning on staying until the end of the week, sir," he answered respectfully.

Kingsley nodded. "Mrs. Halloway? What is your schedule at St. Mungo's like this week?"

"It depends," she answered. "I'm usually very busy, but I am more than willing to clear the time necessary for Mr. Malfoy's procedure. Seeing as he was in my care when his magic was bound, I would prefer for him to be under my care during the unbinding as well."

Kingsley nodded in approval. "I think that would be our smartest option. I will contact the appropriate departments and I will let you know what date we settle on. Mr. Malfoy, would you mind remaining in England for a while longer?"

Hermione looked at Draco.

He nodded. "Of course."

"Then I will owl you with the date and time. I'm sure I will be seeing the two of you around," he concluded with a smile. "You may use the floo to depart, if you wish." Then he turned and walked across the room to speak with the Wizengamot.

Hermione blinked, shocked. That was it? That was awfully anticlimactic.

"Let's get back," Draco suggested, taking her hand in his and leading her back towards the fireplace. She followed after him, unable to believe they weren't going to unbind his magic today.

He held out the jar of floo powder for her, and she took a handful.

"Meet you back at the Potters'?" he asked.

She nodded, smiling sadly, and turned to the fireplace. "12 Grimmauld Place!" she called out, throwing the powder to the ground.

When she stepped out of the fireplace, back in Harry's living room, she immediately sat down on the couch.

Draco soon stepped out as well, sitting—rather gingerly, she couldn't help but notice—beside her.

"I assumed they would remove the bind today," she said mournfully. "How long are they going to leave you like this?"

He shrugged, looking as if he couldn't care the least. "A few days, a week? Who knows. I'm just relieved they're doing it at all. I honestly didn't think the Chief Warlock would agree."

"But you're in pain!"

He scoffed. "I'm fine."

"Draco, don't even _try_ to lie to me. I saw the diagnostic spell. I saw your pain scale. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what exactly?" he asked with a smirk.

Irritation at his casual demeanor bubbled through her. "That you were hurting!"

"It's _fine_," he repeated.

She rose from the couch. "It's not fine! I had no idea you were ever in pain until I saw you having that…that…_fit_ last night!"

"I wasn't having a fit," he denied, now looking rather irritated as well.

"Oh, then what would you call it exactly? You know, you don't have to be so bloody deceptive all the time!"

He looked taken aback. "Deceptive?" he repeated, sounding truly bothered by the word. "You think I'm deceptive?" he asked, angrily.

She backtracked. "No, I just meant that…"

He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "You just meant what?"

She rubbed a hand over her face. "I just want you to be honest with me."

"I _am_ honest with you, Granger. I've been more honest with you than I've ever been with everyone in my entire life up to this point combined!"

She sighed.

He rose to his feet. "If you're wanting me to limp around like some pathetic injured puppy when I'm hurting—then I'm sorry, but I won't do that! Up until today, there was nothing I could do about the pain, alright? So I just managed it the best I knew how! I didn't have any choice. Talking about it wouldn't make it better, Granger."

She watched him sadly.

"Maybe it would have made _you_ feel better," he stated. "But I deal with my problems the best way I know how. Alright?"

She nodded, and he pulled her into an embrace.

He sighed, brushing her hair with his hand. "You know, your hair gets extra frizzy when you're angry."

She groaned, pulling away and pushing him back down on the couch. "You're intolerable," she grumbled, walking into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" he called after her, laughing to himself.

"I'll be right back," she called behind her. When she returned a moment later with two glasses and the bottle of firewhiskey, his eyes lit up with glee.

"Granger, are you planning on getting me drunk and having your way with me?" he accused saucily.

"Even _I_ need a drink after that meeting," she grumbled, plopping down on the couch beside him. She handed him the bottle and a glass.

He smiled at her before pouring them both a drink—he poured himself a double—and they clinked their glasses in a silent toast.

Draco downed his entire glass, and with a sigh, sat back against the couch. She snuggled up to him with her glass still in hand.

They sat like that in silence for a few minutes, with no sound but their breathing and the ticking of the clock above the mantle. The Grandfather clock in the hallway clanged, signaling that it was now five o'clock.

"Do you want to go to Ginny's match with me tomorrow?" she asked him.

"Do _you _want me to go?" he asked.

"Yes," she decided.

"You're ready to face the press already? My, my, brave little Hermione Granger is making an appearance once more."

She grinned, nestling closer against him. "I'm not little."

"You certainly are."

"I can still punch you off your feet."

"I have no doubts about that," he chuckled. "But if we're going to go public tomorrow, then I should probably inform my mother beforehand."

She sat up.

"I doubt I'd ever hear the end of it if she found out we were dating via the Daily Prophet," he told her with a grimace. "I'd like to spare myself the torment of that lecture."

"Well the match is in the morning—maybe you should go tell her tonight."

He frowned. "But we're supposed to go dancing tonight," he whined.

She rolled her eyes. "I doubt you're in any condition to go dancing right now—"

He made an indignant sound.

"—and I'm emotionally drained, to be honest. Why don't we go dancing after they lift your bind? We can make it a celebration."

He narrowed his eyes. "If you're trying to put off dancing in an attempt to cater to me, you have another thing coming. I can go dancing right now. I'm _fine."_

"We can even have dinner."

He pursed his lips. "I was quite determined to take you dancing tonight."

"I'll wear a dress if you agree to wait."

He snorted. "You'll wear a dress anyway."

"You can pick the dress," she offered.

"Hmmm…" he hummed into his glass.

She rolled her eyes. "You can buy me a new one, if you want."

He regarded her thoughtfully now.

"I'll even wear heels and jewelry."

His stubborn refusal continued.

She sighed and handed him her glass—still half full. "You can spend as much money on the whole thing as you want," she compromised begrudgingly.

"Now _that's _a tempting offer," he said with a grin.

"_And _we can go wherever you want—seeing as you'll be able to apparate again."

At this, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "That's _true_… Alright," he agreed. "We can put it off until after the procedure. But we _are_ going."

She chuckled, settling back under his arm.

"We could go right now if we wanted to," he insisted as he took a drink. "I'm not an invalid."

"I never said you were," she smiled, curling into him.

An hour later, they said their goodbyes before Draco stepped into the most posh looking black vehicle Hermione had ever seen. The windows were tinted completely black, and the street lights reflected brightly in the car's glossy paint. The driver closed Draco's door before walking around to get back in the driver's seat. He tipped his cap at Hermione before departing. She watched the car drive down the street and shook her head with a smile. Did Draco ever do _anything_ that didn't involve spending grand amounts of money?

She returned to the living room to curl up on the couch with a new book. She had just gotten through the first chapter when there was a whooshing of flames.

"Are you serious?" came Ron's voice. She startled in surprise and looked up at him as he stepped out of the fireplace. He was angry.

What else was new?

"Hello, Ron," she grumbled, turning her eyes back to her book. "Nice to see you, too."

He snatched the book out of her hands.

"Ronald!" she protested.

"You convinced the Chief Warlock to remove Malfoy's binding?" he exclaimed in fury, throwing his hands about as he did so.

She rose from the couch. "First of all, that was very _rude,_" she snapped, grabbing the book out of his hand. "And second of all, use your brain. No one convinces the _Chief Warlock _to do _anything._ He made the decision all on his own!"

"Hermione, please. I am begging you to see reason here."

"Reason!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "Ron, you are the only one being unreasonable!"

He took her by the shoulders. "Hermione, he is _using_ you!"

"_What_?"

"Malfoy! He's using you! You're his ticket back in!"

"What are you talking about?" she asked in disbelief, pulling out of his grip.

Ron's eyes widened. "The Malfoy name is in disgrace. He can't do business in England—he can't even show his face in England! His magic was bound—he's using you! And you're just letting him! Everyone is going to start liking him because he's dating you. He's using you to repair his reputation. And now you've got his sentence lifted—you're giving him everything he wants!"

"You're delusional," she said with a shake of her head.

"No! I'm right, Hermione, and you know it."

The sound of someone else arriving in the fireplace pulled Hermione's attention away from Ron's manic ramblings. Harry brushed the soot out of his hair.

"I tried to stop him," he said pathetically.

Hermione rolled her eyes and sat back on the couch, opening her book and trying to find the correct page again. "Ron, I'm tired of dealing with your ridiculous temper," she told him. "If you don't have anything to talk about besides your obsession with Malfoy, then don't speak to me."

"Obsession?" Ron laughed. "You're the one who is obsessed! So obsessed that you won't see reason when it's staring you right in the face! Even Harry knows I'm right! Even he thinks Malfoy is using you!"

Hermione looked up at this. "Excuse me?" Her eyes found Harry's green ones—they were wide.

"I never said that," Harry denied.

"Yes you did!" Ron insisted, turning to him. "Mate, we were just talking about it today! You said _if that's the case then there's nothing we can do about it but—"_

"Now you're misinterpreting my words," Harry told him angrily. "I said even if that _were_ the case, there's nothing we can do about it but be there for Hermione. I was trying to make you understand that attacking her relationship with Malfoy isn't the answer! Merlin's beard, Ron! Do you listen to anything anybody ever says to you?"

Hermione was watching them with knitted brows. "I've had enough of this. It's been a long day and I'm tired. I want to relax." She rose from the couch and made to leave the room.

Ron jogged after her. "Hermione, wait!"

She continued down the hallway until he stepped in front of her.

"Get out of my way, Ron, or I'll hex you."

"Fine, then hex me! But please listen to me first, okay?"

"If I listen to you this one time, then will you shut up about Malfoy afterwards?"

"Fine," he agreed with a nod.

She narrowed her eyes. "You'll never bring this up again?"

"Never," he swore.

She shifted on her feet. "Fine. What, then?"

"I think Malfoy met you on purpose—he pursued you on purpose. He's been systematically winning you over so he can convince the world that he's not the bad guy anymore. You're the wizarding world's favorite girl! You're Hermione Granger! Most Brilliant Witch of Her Age!"

"I know who I am," she snapped. "Get on with it, please."

"There's a reason he wanted you to come back to England and get back in the open again—only one. Harry told me how Malfoy wrote him, how he gave you away. It's because he wants you to bring him back up in society! He's manipulating his way back into society! You've already had his sentence lifted—they're going to unbind his magic. That's exactly what he wants. And what's next? Does he want to make your relationship public?"

Hermione gritted her teeth.

"I knew it," he said, smiling victoriously. "He does, doesn't he? But I'll bet he's been casual about it. See? I'm right!"

"You don't know anything, Ron," she said through clenched teeth.

"Then after you two go public, after you've dated for a while, and his reputation is repaired, he'll have no further use for you! And he'll drop you like a bad habit. Hermione, he is using you and he's going to break your heart," he finished.

She stared at him, waiting to be sure he didn't have anything else to say. "Is that all?"

He blinked in confusion. "Well…yeah. I think that about covers it."

She pulled her wand out of her sweater pocket and recited the jellylegs jinx. His legs immediately went rubbery and he fell over.

"Mione!" he complained loudly, trying his hardest to catch himself before he hit the ground.

She turned away, continuing towards the stairs.

"Merlin's beard!" Ron griped. "What the bloody hell was that for? Doesn't she know that I'm trying to help her?"

Harry's laughter echoed behind her as she ascended up the stairs in silence.

The slamming of her bedroom door was the last thing Ron and Harry heard.


	51. Narcissa

**One upside to having the flu and being unable to go into work is that I have lots of time to sit and write! Hooray!**

As his driver's car pulled up to the hill where Malfoy Mansion sat, Draco stopped him.

"This is where I get off," he announced.

"But Mr. Beaulac, there's nothing out here but trees," the driver said, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

Actually, the Mansion sat about 30 yards from the car—the driver just couldn't see it because he was a Muggle.

"My mother's home sits right on the other side of this hill, but the road is blocked off up ahead," he told him. "She's a very private woman—a bit paranoid. You know how old women get," he lied.

The driver laughed nervously. "I understand. Very eccentric, people with money—if you don't mind my saying."

"Not in the least," Draco assured him with a charming smile. "We certainly have our eccentricities," he confirmed. "Thank you so much."

"Would you like me to wait in the nearby area for a ride anywhere else this evening, Mr. Beaulac?" he asked politely.

Draco was thoughtful for a moment. "No, I believe I'll probably end up staying the night here. But I appreciate the offer."

The driver nodded and stepped out of the car, opening Draco's door for him.

"I'm a call away if you need anything, sir," he told him.

Draco handed him a few hundred quid—each bill crisp and neatly folded in half. "Good man," he said. "I appreciate it." He nodded at the driver and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. England was just as cold in April as he remembered it being.

The driver handed him an open black umbrella. "For the rain, sir," he said with a smile.

Draco accepted it with another nod, holding it above him as he proceeded up the hill through the dark, trying to ignore the drizzle that misted through the night. The sound of the engine faded away as the car disappeared down the road.

The gates opened as he approached—as they did for all of the Malfoy bloodline. He began his trip up the long gravel road, listening to the familiar sounds of the Mansion property. The gravel crunched beneath his feet and the wind whistled through the trees that lined the drive, bringing with it the sounds of his mother's gurgling fountain in the gardens to the left.

When he finally arrived at the steps, the large wooden doors opened.

"Master Draco!" squeaked the elf that opened it. "Oh, Mistress Narcissa will be so pleased to see you!"

"Hello Daisy," he greeted the elf, closing his umbrella and handing it to her. The elf eyed it apprehensively, having never seen an umbrella before.

"What's is this?" she asked.

"It's a Muggle invention to keep the rain off of your head," he said, shrugging off his coat and scarf.

She hurriedly took the articles of clothing from him. "Shall I prepare your old room for Master Draco?" she squeaked.

He nodded. "Please."

She bowed. "Mistress is in the parlor room," she told him before disappearing out of sight with a pop.

The doors closed behind him with a heavy thud and he took a look around. He hadn't been home since he left for France. It was well lit, and the hallways lamps reflected in the dark windows. He adjusted his suit jacket before walking towards the parlor.

The mansion had undergone many changes since the war. His mother was an excellent decorator, and she had made sure to rid the mansion of anything that reminded them of dark times. She had changed the parlor again since his departure, he noticed, as he opened the door and stepped inside. The walls were a lighter green, with white paneling. One entire wall was now made out of mirror, making the room appear even larger than it already was.

His mother was sitting at a round white table, drinking tea and reading a magazine. She was in her favorite Japanese styled dressing robe, and her hair was twisted back in a clip.

"Hello, Mother," he announced as he approached her.

Her reaction was priceless. She jumped, spilling her cup all over her magazine. "Draco!" she exclaimed, her pristine face warming with a smile. "Oh, this is the best surprise I've had all week!" She took quick steps towards him before pulling him into a hug.

He grinned, bending down slightly to hug her back. "Glad to hear I can still surprise you from time to time."

"Well maybe I wouldn't be so surprised if you visited more often," she said, pulling back to take his face in her hands. "Oh, I won't even lecture you—I'm too happy to see you." She hugged him once more before leading him back to the table. "Would you like some tea? Have you eaten? When did you get into town? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

He rolled his eyes. "Which question should I answer first?"

She arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "As witty as ever, I see. You must be feeling well, then." She clapped her hands twice, and another elf appeared.

"Sunny, please clear this mess," she said, motioning to the spilled tea before her. "Then fetch Draco some dinner and bring a fresh pot of tea, please."

"And firewhiskey," he added, looking at the elf, "if we have any."

The little elf smiled and nodded before disappearing again, the contents of the table disappearing with her.

Narcissa eyed him sharply. "Still drinking yourself to an early grave, are we?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Actually, you'll be pleased to know that I've cut back considerably."

She nodded. "I'm very glad to hear that." She placed her hand on his knee. "I've missed you, Draco."

He smiled. "I've missed you too," he said with a roll of his eyes.

She sighed. "Did you just get in?"

He swallowed, sobering. "Actually, yesterday."

She blinked. "Sunday? Why did it take you two whole days to visit your mother?"

He grew nervous. "I was visiting…friends."

She blinked again, her eyebrows rising almost imperceptibly. "What kind of friends?"

He coughed. Just then, Sunny reappeared with a pop. She poured them cups of tea and set the bottle of firewhiskey on the table before Draco with a crystal tumbler.

"Dinner will be ready very soon," she said with a bow.

"Thank you, Sunny," Narcissa said dismissively, still watching Draco with a dangerously curious expression on her face.

Draco poured himself a full glass of firewhiskey, relishing in the opportunity to drink it once more. Twice in one day—now that was a treat. He hadn't been able to obtain firewhiskey on a regular basis in almost eight months—his mother refused to bring him any more bottles when she visited.

Merlin, he really _did_ have a bit of a drinking problem.

He tossed back the drink in preparation of the conversation ahead.

"Draco?" she intoned. "What…friends?"

Where should he begin? He set his glass on the table—a bit rougher than he'd intended. "The Potters."

She blinked three times rapidly, her expression unchanging. "The Potters," she repeated. "As in, Harry and Ginevra Potter?"

"Yes," he confirmed, feeling apprehension roll around in his gut like a swirling wave.

She tilted her head to the side. "When did this…friendship…come about?"

"Yesterday, actually."

There were a few rather heavy moments of silence that passed before she shook her head. "Draco, forgive me for not following your rather sparse explanation."

"I'm dating Hermione Granger," he blurted.

Her face scrunched up in confusion. "_The _Hermione Granger? Isn't she…dead?"

"Not as dead as people have assumed—err, no. Not dead at all, actually. She's very much alive. She was living in France."

Her silver eyes widened dramatically. "Pardon me?"

He nodded. "We met in a bookstore a while ago, and we…well…we're dating now."

Her eyebrows knitted together. "When did…for how long? When did this happen?"

He shrugged, filling his glass once more. "Two…months ago, maybe? Or was it…" he rubbed his forehead with one hand as he picked up his glass with the other. "Has it been longer than that? I should probably know this…"

"Draco, that's wonderful!"

He paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. "What?"

She nodded. "It's a brilliant idea!"

He blinked, feeling completely blind-sided.

She leaned forward. "You met her in a bookshop?"

His mouth hung open as he stared at his mother from across the table. "Er…yes."

"Does anyone know yet?"

He shook his head, feeling very much like he was dreaming. "Not yet. We were planning on going public tomorrow. We're attending Pottere—er…Ginevra's Quidditch game together."

She nodded, her eyes twinkling.

Why were her eyes twinkling? Wasn't this the part where she gave him the silent treatment because she didn't approve?

"That will be perfect. The press is sure to be there. You two will make the front page!"

He frowned. "I suppose we might, yes."

Sunny appeared with two plates of food, and she set them on the table in front of them both.

Narcissa unwrapped the linen cloth beside it and set it neatly in her lap with a happy sigh. "I'm very proud of you, Draco. This will be wonderful."

He leaned forward, unrolling his silverware as well. "Forgive me, Mother, but I was expecting for you to be…considerably less excited about this."

She shook her head as she picked up her silverware. "No, I think it is the perfect tactic."

This caused him to pause. _Tactic?_

"Excuse me?"

She nodded. "Of course. You'll be in the spotlight now though, Draco. So you mustn't make any kind of mistakes. You need to keep your record absolutely _spotless._ No loitering in bars or hanging around questionable women. None of that at _all._"

He blinked. "I'm not following," he told her.

She looked up at him. "Hermione Granger is a war hero. She's a very prominent figure in society. Everyone will be _overjoyed_ at her return—and all eyes will be on you, because you associate with her. So you can't ruin that."

He set his napkin on his lap with some hesitancy. "I wasn't…planning to…"

"Well plan _not _to, Draco. Really." She began to cut into the pheasant on her plate.

"Okay…" He turned his attention to his dinner, his mind full of questions. He cut a piece of pheasant and forked it into his mouth.

"And when you end things with her, it _must_ be amicable," she continued.

He choked, lifting his napkin up to cover his mouth. She looked up at him in concern.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked with a cough.

"Are you alright?" she asked him.

He nodded and took a drink of tea. "I'm fine," he told her. "Fine, I just…what are you talking about?"

She blinked as if _she _was the one confused. "Well, unless you want to fall out of the public's favor again, you have to be amicable about it. Let her down kindly."

His eyes widened. "Let her down kindly…" The dots connected. "Mother, are you under the impression that my relationship with Hermione is some kind of…ruse?"

Her face cleared as realization dawned upon her. She set down her fork and knife. "But of course it is."

He sat back. "Merlin's beard, no! No, it's not! I'm genuinely dating Hermione!"

At this, she laughed. "Oh, Draco, don't be ridiculous." She took a drink of her tea.

He stared at her as everything pieced together. She thought he was dating Hermione with ulterior motives.

"I'm not. I'm being utterly serious," he told her.

She set down her cup with a _clink _of porcelain that made him cringe. Here it was—here was the reaction he had expected.

"Draco, you can't tell me you've developed…feelings for the girl," she said with a wry smile on her lips.

He blinked. "I have, very much so."

She frowned now, pursing her lips in disapproval. "Draco, be realistic. It's not as if you can _marry _her."

He scoffed. "And why not?"

Her eyes went wide and a look of mild horror rested upon her impeccable features. "Draco! She's a…she's a mu… She's a _muggleborn,_ for goodness sakes!"

Anger coiled within him. "Were you just about to call Hermione a _mudblood?_"

She gave him a patronizing look. "Let's not be coy, shall we? There's no need for pretenses in this home." She returned to her dinner as if nothing was wrong.

Draco felt something dangerous stir within him. What was that? Ah, yes—it was fury. Complete and absolute fury. It sparked and ignited within him; it made his hair stand up on end.

He rose from his chair, the legs scraping noisily against the wooden floor. The linen napkin fell to the ground.

Narcissa looked up at him in disapproval. "Will you have some care? I just had these floors re-done!"

"Damn your floors, mother," he spat.

Her eyes widened. "Draco! I am your mother! You will _not_ speak to me this way. And certainly not over some _girl!_"

"Have you forgotten everything we've been through over the last five years?" he asked, his voice reverberating with wrath. "Everything we've learned?"

She stared at him in silence.

"_Have you forgotten how she bled in this very house?!"_ he shouted. "Because of _us?_ Because of the decisions _we made? _The _wrong_ decisions! How many people died because of what this family did? How many?" He slammed his fist on the table.

She shrank back slightly. "I…I don't know."

"And you're telling me that after all these years—after Father _died _in _prison_ for our crimes, that you still hold to your ridiculous, twisted, illogical and _barbaric_ beliefs of blood supremacy?"

She blinked rapidly, as if shaking herself out of her terror, before her eyes lit up and she took on a rage of her own. "We may have lost the war, Draco, and we may not be running this world anymore—but that does not change _facts. _And the facts are that Muggles and Muggleborns are _below_ us. Their blood is impure. I will not have a _Muggleborn_ tainting the Malfoy bloodline! I will not have it! Your father did not _die_ so you could destroy all we have worked for!" she shouted.

His shoulders heaved in big angry breaths. "What about all your work with the program for Muggle families of Hogwarts students? Your donations to Muggleborn families displaced during the war? After all of that…?"

She scoffed. "_Someone_ had to rebuild our family's name after it was destroyed in the war. Everyone must make certain changes to survive."

He shook his head, seething. "You're disgusting," he hissed.

And with that, he turned on his heel and left the house, ignoring the angry calls of his name echoing behind him.

**Tell me honestly. Was anyone expecting that or did I manage to surprise you? **


	52. Catching Up

Draco walked down the hill, pulling out his phone to dial his driver. Hopefully he would come back and give him a ride. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, trying to keep the cold from seeping into his bones. His umbrella was rather useless at this point—the rain was falling in too many different directions.

His phone wouldn't work. Damn! It was static-y every time he tried to dial. _Must be the magical interference, _he thought with a huff. He was too close to the manor. He shoved the phone in his jacket pocket and continued down the hill.

When he had walked a good mile or two, he tried again. There was still static, but he was able to get a hold of the driver. He informed Draco he would leave to pick him up immediately.

"Where to?" the driver asked when they were both safely in the car, thirty minutes later.

Draco sighed, turning up the heater to full blast as he shivered. Where to, indeed?

His first thought was to return to Grimmauld Place so he could see Granger, but if he saw her then he would end up explaining what happened with his mother—and he really didn't want to have that conversation right now. He was tired, cold, and his joints were aching almost as badly as his head.

What he _did_ want was some alone time…with a bottle of alcohol. Yes, that sounded nice.

He instructed the driver to take him to a hotel in downtown London.

Draco was silent for the entire drive, simmering and stewing from the backseat as his conversation with his mother ran through his head over and over. It made the driver nervous, he could tell, but the driver seemed to know better than to inquire about his bad mood.

They finally arrived at the hotel—Draco tipped his driver and departed without a word.

When he settled in his hotel room, he took a long hot shower to chase away the cold. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked through his large suite, making a beeline for the small fridge that he knew supplied alcohol when he heard his mobile ring.

He picked it up to see _Granger_ flashing brightly on the screen, and smiled in spite of himself.

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted.

"How are you?" she asked, sounding relieved to be speaking to him. Her voice distorted slightly as a rush of static overtook the line.

"All the better for hearing your voice. How is your evening going?"

"Alright, I suppose. Ron came over earlier, spouting nonsense. Then Harry invited me over to the Burrow for dinner—I'm changing now and was about to head over there. Are you at your mother's? How did it go?"

"Er…no. I decided I didn't want to stay there for the night. I just…I don't like being in that house. I'm at a hotel downtown now."

"Draco, why didn't you just come here instead?"

He sighed, opening the door to the cooler. "It's Potter's house. I don't want to intrude." There was more fuzzy static on the line.

"You're more than welcome here. Honestly. Both Ginny _and_ Harry have specifically said—"

"I know, I know. It just…it feels weird. I don't want to overstep boundaries." He slammed the door to the cooler closed—all it had was wine coolers.

"You're not overstepping boundaries," she assured him.

"Granger, I want to be friends with your friends, okay? I do. And the Potters have been _very _kind to me. Astonishingly kind. But I need some time."

"Alright. I wasn't trying to push you…"

"I know you weren't," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "It's fine."

The silence between them was heavy before Granger finally broke it with the question he didn't want to answer.

"How did your talk with your mother go? I'm guessing not well, if you're staying at a hotel."

He hesitated. "It went…fine. It was fine."

"Fine?" she repeated, not sounding dubious, as if she didn't believe him for one moment.

"She was…she was actually far more…enthusiastic about it…initially…then I was expecting."

"Enthusiastic? She was _enthusiastic_?" She paused, and he was willing to bet that she was scrunching up her nose in that adorable way she always did. "I can't picture Narcissa being enthusiastic about anything…"

"Overly enthusiastic," he said with a sigh. "I'm way too tired to discuss it now."

"But that's…good news, isn't it? Are you feeling okay?"

"Just…trust me, Granger. We can talk about it tomorrow. I would really rather not talk about it right now. Please."

There was more static, and she made a sound of frustration.

"Granger?" he called, his voice distorting through the static that returned.

"I'm here," she said. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, but just barely."

"These bloody phones," she sighed. "It must be the magical interference. I wish there was some way to merge Muggle technology with magic," she grumbled.

Draco paused and it was as if a lightbulb went off in his head. Now _there _was an idea…

"I have to go to dinner—I'm already late. But I miss you already. Will I see you in the morning?"

The wheels in his head were turning. "Yes, I'll be there bright and early," he assured her.

"Okay. If you change your mind and want to come here, you can…"

He blinked, trying to refocus on their conversation. "Why don't you just come stay the night here with me? I doubt I'd be able to get into Grimmauld Place on my own anyway."

There was more static.

"I hadn't even thought about that," she said, her voice distorting again.

"I'll text you the address and room number," he told her as he got out a pen and paper.

"Okay. I miss you."

"I miss you too, Granger. See you tonight."

"I love you."

He grinned. "I love you too," he said, feeling a sense of lightness and relief as he said the words. He was not giddy. Malfoys were never giddy.

He hung up and picked up the hotel phone, dialing the desk.

"Yes, I'd like someone to run an errand for me. I need a bottle of whiskey—finest bottle you can find. Charge it to my room. And a bottle of champagne on ice in about…oh…" He glanced at his watch, trying to estimate how long it would take Granger to arrive. "…Three hours. Yes. Thank you."

He set the phone back in its cradle and began to scroll through the contacts on his mobile phone. He dialed the number for the most cutthroat and _popular_ businessman he knew.

It rang twice before the man answered. "Hello?"

"Blaise, mate, it's Malfoy. Look, I have a business idea for you."

Meanwhile, Hermione was stepping out of the fireplace at the Weasley home.

"Mione!" came a chorus of voices.

She smiled at everyone before two familiar figures approached her. "George...and Jordan!" she greeted the dark skinned, smiling boy. "Good to see you!"

Jordan grinned. "I'll say. It's a right surprise to see you again! Glad you aren't dead," he said with a wink, pulling her into a side hug.

George grabbed her by the hand and pulled her down on the couch to sit between them.

"You're in trouble, young lady," he told her with a sly grin and a glint in his eyes.

She frowned. "Trouble?" She looked around the room—Harry chased Teddy into the kitchen, laughter echoing behind them, Arthur was sitting on his chair, tinkering with an electric clock, and there was the ruckus of pots and pans and dishes coming from the kitchen. "With whom?"

"With us, of course!" George said. "Isn't that right, Jordan?"

Jordan nodded.

Hermione blinked, feeling a sense of déjà vu at being cornered by the boys—only it was George and _Jordan_ instead of George and Fred. "Okay, why am I in trouble?" she asked, tentatively.

"We heard about your new boyfriend," George told her.

Jordan closed his eyes and shook his head mournfully.

She felt her cheeks begin to warm. "I see."

"You sneak, you!" George reprimanded playfully.

"In all fairness, I did try to tell you," she said. "I came right out and told you I was dating Draco."

"Yes, but I thought you were making a joke!" George insisted, looking properly scandalized.

"A bad joke," Jordan added.

"Yes, a very bad joke," George agreed.

"It's not a joke at all!" she told them, sitting up angrily.

"We know!" George exclaimed. She could practically hear the echo of Fred's voice as he said it.

"Well, you're just going to have to accept it. That's the way it is. Draco and I are together."

George shook his head and Jordan sighed dramatically.

"I wonder if Malfoy is any better at taking a prank than he was at Hogwarts," George wondered aloud.

"Don't you dare!" she threatened. "George Fabian Weasley, I will hex you to oblivion!"

"No promises," he said with a wink. "Come on, Jordan. I think Mum is calling for help in the kitchen."

"George!" she called after him as she rose to her feet, but he disappeared into the kitchen with Jordan following closely behind.

Ginny passed them as they exited, and she sent them a curious look before joining Hermione. "George and Jordan up to no good again?" she asked.

"Does your whole family know about Draco now?"

Ginny nodded with a smile. "Ron announced it today when Harry dragged him over here for dinner."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. What did they say?"

"Nothing initially—they were rather shocked."

She nodded and sat on the couch once more, Ginny settling next to her.

"Are you ready for the game tomorrow?" she asked the redhead.

"Yes," she replied, her eyes lighting up. "Are you?"

Hermione laughed. "As ready as I can be."

"Speaking of Draco, where is he?"

"At a hotel in downtown London," she replied, pulling out her phone to see if he had texted her the address yet. No luck.

"Why?"

"He went to visit Narcissa and break the news about us, but I don't think it went very well. He didn't want to talk about it," she said with another roll of her eyes.

Ginny's eyebrows pinched together. "Why didn't he just come back to Grimmauld Place?"

"I don't think he feels comfortable enough for that. He said he didn't want to overstay his welcome."

Ginny scoffed. "There's no such thing."

"That's what I told him, but you know how Draco is."

"Not really, but I suppose I can guess—proper and etiquette, and all of that."

"I think it will take some time for him to warm up to everyone. How is Ron's…temperament tonight?" Hermione asked.

Her friend shrugged. "As fragile as ever. Claire owled and is on her way, though. She can usually settle his nerves."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Claire? Ron's girlfriend? She's coming?"

Ginny eyed her in amusement. "Of course she is. She always attends these dinners. You know how Mum is—invites the family and everyone the family knows."

Hermione suddenly felt very nervous to meet Claire, and she wasn't sure why. "Does Claire know about me?"

This time, Ginny rolled _her_ eyes. "Everybody knows about you—you're Hermione Granger. And she _did_ go to Hogwarts with us."

"No, I mean—does she know I'm back?"

The redhead frowned at that. "Actually, I'm not entirely certain…"

"Well, what is she like?"

"She's a sweet girl, but shy and quiet. Very girly. When she does talk, it's like…" she made a motion with her hand as if something were falling out of her mouth. "…Blah. Word vomit. She seems a bit vapid—reminds me of Lavender, if I'm going to be completely honest."

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed at the callous way she described Lavender.

Ginny's eyes widened. "Not because she's vapid! That's not what I meant. Sorry," she grimaced.

"Speaking of Lavender—how is she? Has anyone heard from her since…you know?"

"Since becoming a werewolf, you mean?"

Hermione sighed. "That can't have been easy."

"Ron and Lavender are actually close friends." At Hermione's surprised expression, she nodded and continued. "Very close. They talk all the time." She looked around the room before leaning closer. "I think Ron is in love with her."

Hermione jerked back in surprise. _"What?"_

Ginny nodded. "He won't say a thing about it—I mean, he's dating someone else, for crying out loud—but I can see the expression he gets on his face whenever she's brought up. It's just…sad. Watch—you ask him about her tonight and you can see for yourself."

"I'm not going to ask Ron about his ex-girlfriend if it will make him sad!" she hissed. "That's terribly insensitive."

"Well you should ask him about it anyway—when there's no one else around. He won't even talk to Harry about her."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he disappears for two days after the full moon every month. I'll give you one guess as to where. He requests off work and everything. Then when he comes back, he's sullen and mopey for days. But whenever Harry or I ask him what's wrong, he just shrugs. He won't talk about her at all. But I _know_ he's going to see her. He admitted it once—_once._"

"How long has this been going on?"

"Shortly after you two broke up."

She reeled at the new information. "Wow. I had no idea. Is she still here in Britain?"

"The one time Ron would let anything slip about her, he said she was in Ireland. I heard she lives on her grandparent's old property out on the moors. No one has really seen her since the war. She doesn't visit or make any public appearances at all."

Hermione frowned at that. She and Lavender were never close—the girl had rather annoyed her in school, to be honest—but it was mostly because they were so different. They had nothing in common, and they valued different things. Lavender preferred divination and staying up late at night to gossip and giggle with her roommates, while Hermione preferred Arithmacy and going to bed early so that she was well rested for her classes—unless she was studying, of course. But Lavender was a lovely girl, and after their brief rivalry during sixth year, any negative feelings Hermione harbored toward her had vanished.

The war had brought out a different side of Lavender—a resourceful, strong side—one that Hermione hadn't expected. And when the girl had been attacked by Greyback… Hermione shivered at the memory. Lavender had very nearly died from her injuries. Fortunately, Madame Pomfrey had been able to save her, but the damage was already done. She had been infected.

Not everyone survived the infection, and the fact that Lavender had been able to pull through it was a testament to her strength. Hermione felt a wave of pity at the knowledge that Lavender was living far away in isolation because of her disease.

She made a note to look into Lavender Brown later.

Just then, a girl with long blonde hair stepped out of the fireplace, shaking soot out of her locks.

"Speaking of Ron's love interests," Ginny mumbled under her breath, raising her hand in greeting. "Hey, Claire."

Hermione blinked. Now she could see what Ginny meant—the resemblance between Claire and Lavender was obvious. They could have been sisters, for crying out loud. She had the same shade and length of blonde hair as Lavender, only it didn't curl as much. They both had round, heart shaped faces, although Claire was considerably paler than the former girl, with far more freckles. Claire was an average height, had the same body type as Lavender, and, like Lavender, had a very warm smile that seemed to light up her entire face.

"Hey Ginny," Claire greeted, taking a step toward her. When her eyes landed on Hermione, she froze and her jaw dropped open.

Hermione rose to her feet. "Hello Claire, I've heard so much about you," she greeted her, stepping forward to shake her hand.

Claire blinked, coming back to her senses, and accepting Hermione's hand. "You're… We thought you were dead!" She blinked again, her face taking on an expression of mortification. "I mean…I'm just… Not that I… Oh, bugger. I'm glad you're alive and well, I'm just…surprised. Ron said you had died—everybody said…"

"Oh," Hermione said with an awkward chuckle. "Well I'm not. Dead, I mean."

Ginny joined them. "She's been hiding in France—unbeknownst to us—but we've forgiven her," she summarized, bumping Hermione with her shoulder.

Hermione smiled at the redhead.

"Wow. When did you—how long have you been back?" Claire asked, trying to catch up.

"Since Thursday," Hermione answered.

Claire's eyes were drawn to the kitchen, where Ron's laughter echoed through the doorway. "Does Ron know? Of course he… How is he…taking it?" she asked, trying and failing to word her sentences carefully.

"He's pretty pissed," Ginny answered for her. "Wouldn't you say?" she asked Hermione.

The brunette nodded. "I'd say that's a fairly accurate statement," she agreed.

Clair blinked rapidly. "Oh. Well I…I think I'll go say hi. Good to…see you again," she said with a half smile before departing from the room.

Hermione and Ginny watched her go.

"I see what you mean about the word vomit," Hermione laughed.

"Poor girl," Ginny commented with a shake of her head.

"Why do you say that?"

Ginny snorted. "Because it's obvious to anyone with half a brain that Ron doesn't love her."

"Harry didn't mention anything like that. He said…he said Ron quite liked her."

Ginny cast a sardonic expression her way. "Harry is a lot of things, but intuitive to matters of the heart is not one of them. I'm pretty sure if I had left it up to him, we never would have gotten together."

Hermione nodded. "That's a fair point."

Dinner was awkward—or maybe Hermione was imagining it. She told herself that she was probably being paranoid and overly sensitive, but it felt like she just couldn't get into the dynamic of the people around her. She felt isolated somehow. She sat between Ginny and Arthur, and everyone ate their food as the conversation and laughter flowed without her.

Ron cast several pensive and almost irritated looks at her throughout their meal—probably due to the fact that she had hexed him earlier—and Claire spent the meal looking between Ron and Hermione, as if watching for any kind of abnormal vibes.

Maybe Ginny was right—maybe Ron and Claire's relationship wasn't as solid as Harry made it sound.

After dessert, they all piled into the living room, settling in their respective places. Harry and George began a game of exploding snap, Ron challenged Angelina to a game of Wizard's chess while Claire sat by and watched in silence, Ginny and Jordan began discussing Quidditch stats, and Molly played with Teddy on the floor. She was leaning against the door frame with a cup of tea in her hands when Arthur approached her.

"Hello, Hermione," he greeted, taking a sip of tea from his own cup.

"Hi Arthur," she returned with a smile. "Did you manage to fix that electric clock?"

He grinned, looking quite pleased with himself. "I did. I've gotten quite the hang of Muggle technology since you were here last."

She chuckled. "Good, I'm glad."

"Yes." His expression went very serious. "I wanted to speak with you about something, actually, and I hope I'm not intruding."

She blinked in surprise. "Oh. Okay, well go ahead."

"Ron informed us that you're dating Draco Malfoy."

She sighed.

"Don't misunderstand, I'm not upset," he assured her. "Although I am quite surprised!" He chuckled. "But your personal decisions are your own to make. You'll certainly be receiving enough negative feedback from the rest of the world—you won't receive any here."

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you. You and Molly are like parents to me, I don't know if I could handle any estrangement due to disapproval."

"And you're like a second daughter to us, Hermione, I assure you. You are loved very much by everyone in this home, I hope you realize that."

She nodded, feeling rather emotional at his words.

"And I don't need to warn you to be careful—Merlin knows you're one of the most careful witches I've ever met. I know you can handle yourself."

"Thank you," she repeated.

"Ron told us about his theories," he told her as he took another sip of tea. "I know he's a brash child, and you two don't always get along. But try not to be too hard on him. His concern for you is genuine, if not slightly misguided."

She bit the inside of her cheek.

"He cares for you, Hermione—we all do. He has a big heart. He does all his thinking and acting with his heart, and doesn't always rationalize before acting."

She nodded. This was true.

"I would just advise you not to lose a lifetime long friendship over a romantic interest. That doesn't mean that Draco isn't important to you—I'm sure he is. But be patient with Ron. If Draco Malfoy has indeed changed as you and Harry say he has, then Ron will come around. It will just take some time."

She sighed. "I'm not so certain. He hates Draco so much."

The man took on a tired expression. "I'm afraid that might be partly my fault. I was always very open about my dislike for the Malfoy family. Ron might have internalized my disgust for the Malfoys a bit more than I wanted him to."

Molly looked up at them from across the room, and a look of concern flashed across her face as her eyes met Hermione's before Teddy held up a toy and she turned her attention back to him with a smile.

"What does Molly have to say about it?" she asked him.

"Molly is very much like Ron," he said with a laugh. "Ron inherited the Prewett temper—and he got it from her. She'll come around—they both will." He clapped her on the shoulder before walking away.

"Arthur?" she called after him.

He turned back to her with raised eyebrows.

"Thank you," she told him.

He smiled and nodded before moving to his favorite chair, where he slumped into it with his cup of tea.

**Everyone hates Ron! I don't hate Ron-I hate his character in the movies, because they watered him down and took all his good qualities and gave them to Hermione-but he's not a bad guy! Sure, he's irritating at times, and I hate him and Hermione together. They were a terrible match. But I don't want to bash Ron in this fic. I think he is a far more complicated character than most fanfics give him credit for, and I think it's a cheap way out to just bash him and make him into the enemy. Also, I couldn't stand the thought of Lavender dying, it made me sad because it was just too tragic. She was a little annoying, but she was so sweet and nice. So in my fic, she's alive. And a werewolf. Tragic. More on that later ;) This chapter was long, but I wanted to make sure I could paint an accurate vision of all of the characters-including the Weasleys, because they're all important.**

**Anyway, stay tuned for more very soon. The Quidditch game is up next! **


	53. Quidditch

Not long after her conversation with Arthur, her phone vibrated in the pocket of her jeans. She opened it to find a text from Draco with an address and the room number. She said her goodbyes, promising to meet them all at the Burrow first thing in the morning, so they could travel to Ginny's Quidditch game together.

She flooed back to Grimmauld Place, where she called a cab. She couldn't very well apparate to Draco's hotel room—she'd never seen it before and might splinch herself.

She took a taxi cab through the rain to the hotel. It was—as per usual—the nicest hotel in the area. With a wry smile and a shake of her head, she proceeded to take the elevator up the Draco's floor.

When she knocked, there was a dull crash from the other side of the door. She frowned.

"One minute!" Draco called.

She heard the sound of a struggle, then running water, and she wondered what Draco could possibly be up to. After a few seconds, she raised her fist to knock again, but the door swung open, revealing Draco in nothing but his boxers.

He leaned on the door knob. "Are you with room service?" he purred, running his eyes up and down her figure slowly.

She grinned. "There must be some mistake. I'm looking for a handsome blonde—very serious, always nicely dressed. I must have the wrong room." She made to turn and walk away when he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the room, closing the door behind them. She squeaked and laughed as he pulled her against him.

When he pushed her up against the door, her eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of his warm body pressed against hers.

"Even if you do have the wrong room," he breathed against her ear, "You're exactly what I ordered, and I think it would be worth your while to stay here."

"Oh, you think so, do you?" she murmured.

"I know so," he said softly, grazing her lips with his. His breath smelled strongly of mint.

She grinned as she opened her eyes. "Prove it," she challenged, reveling in the way his eyes seemed to spark at her words.

He kissed her then, and her breath left her. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

"I missed you," he said as he laid her down on the bed and moved to kiss her neck.

"It hasn't been more than five hours!" she laughed.

He pulled back to look at her. "Are you saying you didn't miss me as well?"

She smirked. "You know I did. I always miss you."

"That's what I like to hear," he said with a sly grin, as he began to remove her shoes and socks.

She let him undress her in silence, just watching his graceful movements. Her heart was pounding and she practically quivered with anticipation.

Once she was down to her bra and underwear, he looked up at her, smiling devilishly. He began to press soft kisses against her ankle, slowly making his way up her body. Her breath left her as he reached the inside of her upper thigh, and she closed her eyes, giving herself over to the pleasure she was bound to receive.

A good while later, they were lying side by side on the floor, both breathing heavily.

"Oh, I got you champagne," he mentioned with a casual hand motion, his eyes closed.

She laughed, her eyes following to where he had signaled—there was a cart by the window, upon which sat a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket, with two crystal flutes.

She rolled over to kiss his cheek. "Would you like me to pour you a glass?" she asked.

He nodded. "I don't think I can get up just yet. That was quite the tumble."

She grinned. "I can't believe we rolled right off the bed."

His steel gray eyes opened and he grinned right back. "I can."

She chuckled as she rose to her feet and made her way to the window to retrieve the champagne. Picking up the bottle and the corkscrew opener in one hand, and the glasses in the other, she turned to him. "Shall we move to the bed, then?"

He rolled over and propped himself up on his left elbow. "I think we should stay just where we are. I like the view from here."

She shook her head at him. "You're incorrigible." She sat on the bed—the comforter was stuffed full of feathers, and she sank into it with a satisfied hum.

"You like it," he called from the foot of the bed.

"That I do," she confirmed through closed eyes.

There was a dip in the bed next to her and she handed the bottle to Draco.

"How was dinner?" he asked as he began to turn the corkscrew into the top of the bottle.

She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. "It was alright. I met Ron's new girlfriend," she told him with a raise of her eyebrows.

He glanced at her with wide eyes. "The Weasel has a girlfriend?" There was a pop as he removed the cork.

"Don't call him that," she admonished, holding out the champagne flutes.

"I'll stop calling him The Weasel when he stops acting like a weasel." He filled their glasses and set the bottle on the side table next to the bed.

She sighed. "She's practically the closest looking thing to Lavender in England."

He tilted his head as he accepted a glass from her. "What?"

"Lavender Brown, his girlfriend from sixth year," she clarified as she raised her flute to him.

He nodded, then clinked his glass against hers before kissing her.

She smiled as she took a sip of her drink—it was bubbly and tart. "Ginny thinks Ron is still in love with her."

"With Brown?"

"Yes."

He looked thoughtful. "Wasn't she infected at the Battle of Hogwarts?" he asked as he settled against the massive stack of pillows beside hers.

She nodded sadly. "She's a werewolf now. She's living all by herself on the moors of Ireland. He visits her after every full moon."

"That's...really depressing. And what does his current girlfriend have to say about that?"

"I have no idea," she told him. "Harry made it sound like they were very happy together. They've been dating for six months now."

"They can't be _that_ happy if he's going to visit his ex girlfriend every month."

She nodded. "I agree. And it doesn't help that Claire looks exactly like Lavender. That's very suspicious."

"As long as he's in love with _that_ ex girlfriend and not you. That's a tremendous weight off my mind."

She scrunched up her nose and laughed. "Why?"

"Because if Weasley is in love with you, that makes my job ten times harder."

"And what is your job exactly?" she asked, curiously.

"To win over your friends," he said, as if it were obvious. "If your friends disapprove of me, it'll put strain on you. I don't want that."

She smiled at his thoughtfulness, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. "So are you going to tell me about how it really went with your mother?"

His expression darkened. "Ugh. Don't remind me."

"I knew it wasn't fine. Every time you say something is fine, you mean the opposite."

"I do not."

"You do so."

He narrowed his eyes and her and she stared defiantly right back. Finally, he conceded.

"Well it wasn't fine," he confessed with a sigh.

"I thought you said she was enthusiastic about us?"

He placed his glass on the bedside table and leaned back, folding his hands behind his head, and nodded. "I said _initially,_ and she was—because she assumed I was using you as a way to repair the Malfoy reputation."

Hermione went still at this. Ron's words replayed in her head. She'd been pushing his theories from her mind all evening. She knew they weren't true—she knew Draco would never use her that way. But it was disconcerting to hear that his mother had made the same assumption.

"When I informed her that our relationship was not a ruse, she was livid. She basically expressed that it was ridiculous for me to develop feelings for you since '_it's not as if you can marry her'_ because—guess why?"

"She still believes in blood supremacy," she realized.

"Bingo."

"Even after all the work she's done to help Muggleborns," she said, shaking her head. "Her donations, her charity work, all of that, she's only doing it for the press?"

He nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Oh, Draco, I'm sorry," she said, stroking his cheek. "What did you do?"

He closed his eyes. "I snapped. I yelled, I might have hit the table, I cursed a bit… Then I stormed out."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me."

He shook his head. "I was too angry."

"Maybe she'll come around," she said half-heartedly.

He laughed darkly. "If she hasn't changed her way of thinking by now… I just don't think it's going to happen."

She was silent, unable to think of anything else to say.

He poured himself another glass of champagne. "In other news—happier news—I had a genius breakthrough tonight."

She tilted her head. "A breakthrough?"

"Well it's all thanks to you—you gave me the idea."

"I…did?"

He nodded, his eyes practically shining. "I called Blaise after I got off the phone with you, we're going to be partners in a revolutionary business endeavor."

She grinned—she could tell he was excited. "What's the business endeavor?"

"Remember how you said you wished we could combine magic with muggle technology?"

Her eyes widened. "You're going to do it?" she asked. "That's a great idea! That's amazing! But how?"

He shrugged. "How is the question—that's why I called Blaise. He has far more business contacts than I do, and he has a wider range of resources—as far as Muggle engineers and such. So we're going to work together and try to find a solution."

"Draco, if you can make this work, that'll be…it'll be…" she shook her head, unable to think of the right word.

"Business will _boom,_" he told her with a grin. "I think we can be incredibly successful. I don't know why someone hasn't tried it already! Blaise said he would make some calls this week, and we're going to have lunch next Thursday to formulate a plan."

"I'm so excited for you!" she laughed.

"For us," he clarified.

She blinked in confusion.

"It was your idea," he insisted.

She laughed. "No, it wasn't! I was being silly, it was just wishful thinking."

"That's where inventions stem from," he insisted. "So you'll own rights to this company—just as much as me and Blaise."

She sobered at this. "What? No, I don't…"

"No, it was your idea. Besides, you were the first person I thought of as to recruitment for research purposes. We need your brilliant brain on this. We can work together." He kissed her. "You're amazing, Granger. I'm the luckiest man alive."

She didn't know what else to say to that, so she settled with a grin. She warmed inside.

The next morning, Hermione took Draco by the hand to apparate him side-along to the Burrow.

"Are you ready?" she asked him.

He swallowed and nodded forcefully, looking far less nervous than she knew he was. "Ready for apparition into Weasley territory. Let's do it."

She rolled her eyes and took his other hand for good measure before disapparating.

They appeared with a small pop in the backyard of the Burrow. Draco looked around, eyeing the property around them.

"It looks cozy," he commented as his eyes fell on the house itself.

"It gets even cozier," she laughed as they walked up to the back door.

When they stepped inside, it was an animal house.

Teddy came tearing by—narrowly avoiding a collision with Draco and Hermione—his hair transforming from blue to purple, shortly followed by Bill and Fleur's four-year-old daughter Victoire, who was chasing after him and giggling. Fleur came rushing by, running after the children and shouting at them in French. George was singing loudly at the top of his lungs with Lee Jordan, whose arm was looped around his shoulder, while Arthur clapped along from his chair. Ron was trying to yell over them—something about the Chudley Cannons—while Claire watched them and laughed. Angelina was charming various tea cups from around the room to float away from their various spots towards the kitchen, wearing an amused smile on her face. Mrs. Weasley came running in from the kitchen, ducking to avoid said tea cups as she shouted at George to keep it down because the baby was napping. Harry sat on the couch watching them all with a dopey grin on his face, and Bill stood nearby in his usual silence, with the smallest hint of a smile at the corner of his scarred lips.

Draco blinked at the sight and took a step back, wearing an expression that could only be described as horrified. Hermione tightened her grip on his hand, offering him an encouraging smile. No one took notice of their arrival.

He leaned over to her. "Is it always like this?"

She sighed happily. "More or less."

"Merlin's beard…"

"Hermione!" Molly Weasley suddenly exclaimed.

The singing stopped—as did Ron's shouts—and they all turned to look at Hermione and Draco.

"Hello," Hermione offered weakly, ignoring Ron's heated glare in their direction.

"Drakey!" George exclaimed, ducking out of Jordan's arms and making a beeline for Draco's side.

Draco eyes went wide and he tensed—a perfectly normal reaction, given George's troublemaking reputation.

George put his arm around Draco's shoulders, pulling him away from Hermione and steering him farther into the living room. "How are you doing today? Excited for the match?" George asked. "Everybody! Malfoy's here!"

"Hello," Arthur greeted brightly from his chair. Jordan, Bill, and Claire all mumbled their greetings.

Ron sat down on the couch in a pout, and Claire quickly sat beside him. Harry rose from his seat and approached Draco.

"Hey, mate," he greeted, holding out his hand.

Draco shook it before throwing Hermione a pleading look.

She followed after them with a smile. "George, I meant what I said last night," she warned.

George feigned a look of innocence. "I believe your exact words were 'prank Malfoy as much as your heart desires,' right?"

Malfoy's eyes widened with apprehension.

"I _will_ hex you, George," she threatened.

George shrugged, turning to grin at Draco. "Maybe later, then, eh? Who else wants a drink?"

"I do!" Arthur called, rising to his feet with a groan. "Just one, though," he said with a cough as he glanced nervously at the kitchen, where Molly had disappeared.

George released Draco with a rough slap on the back, and retrieved a bottle of firewhiskey from the cabinet, along with several cups. He poured them all a drink, charming them to float into the hands of each adult in the room.

"To the Holyhead Harpies!" Jordan toasted.

"Here, here!" George agreed.

"May they demolish Puddlemere United today!" Jordan finished.

Everyone clinked their glasses and took a drink.

"Let's place bets, then," Angelina suggested.

"How many points will Ginny score today?" Harry asked them with a smile.

Bill took a step forward. "I'd bet at least eighty points."

"Eighty points!" George exclaimed. "That's a bit high! I wouldn't even bet that high, and she's my sister!"

"She's my sister too, you dolt," Bill responded with a shake of his head.

"I'm putting money on seventy points," Angelina said, dropping three coins onto the coffee table.

"Eighty," Bill insisted, setting down his three coins as well.

"Seventy, no more!" George added to the pile.

"Ninety," Harry bet with a grin. There was a clink of coins on the table.

Jordan scoffed. "Children. This is the _Puddlemere _game we're talking about. It's a huge rivalry game." He dropped his coins in with the pile. "A hundred or more."

"You can't bet on more!" George argued. "You can only bet on one number!"

"You had better not be gambling in my house, George Fabian Weasley!" came Molly's shrill call from the kitchen.

They all went quiet.

Arthur quickly set down two coins. "A hundred and twenty," he whispered, before quickly walking out of the room to join his wife in the kitchen.

Hermione laughed at their antics.

"What about you, Ron?" George said, whispering loudly. "Care to join in?" he asked.

"No," Ron said sullenly.

George and Jordan exchanged looks. "His loss, then," the redhead concluded with a shrug.

"A hundred and ten," Malfoy suddenly announced, dropping his wizard coins in with the pile.

The group went quiet, all turning to look at Malfoy. He assumed his usual confident air, and Hermione smiled, taking his hand as she stood closer to him.

"You're all crazy," George decided with a grin, patting Malfoy on the back—less hard this time—as he swiped the pile of money into a small green bag.

"I'm telling Ginny you bet on the lowest number of points," Harry teased.

George scoffed. "I'm not afraid of her," he stated.

Fleur stomped in from the kitchen. _"Victoire has lost her shoe,"_ she told Bill in French. _"She cannot find it and now she is crying! I think Teddy must have hidden it again."_

_"Is that it?"_ Draco asked in French, pointing to the ceiling.

Fleur and Bill both cast him a surprise expression before looking up to where he was pointing.

Everyone in the room was looking up now at the small white shoe that was stuck to the ceiling above their heads.

"How did that get up there?" Angelina asked.

"That has Teddy written all over it," Harry laughed.

"I've got it," Hermione volunteered, lifting her wand. "Accio shoe," she said, pointing to the footwear. It landed in her hand.

_"You speak French?"_ Fleur asked Draco through narrowed eyes.

He nodded. _"I live there—so does Granger. Her French is even better than mine."_

Hermione rolled her eyes and felt her cheeks pinken.

Fleur's face took on an expression of delight. _"You have learned French, Hermione?"_

_"I have,"_ she confirmed.

Fleur clapped her hands with excitement. _"Wonderful! And Draco, I had no idea you were living in France! Do you live together?"_

Hermione shook her head. _"No, just in the same town."_

_"That is lovely! We should visit sometime. We go to visit my mother in Paris every spring. It is so lovely at that time of year. Draco, Hermione, you must join us in Paris sometime."_

They both nodded, Hermione brightening considerably at the invitation.

_"We would love that, thank you,"_ Draco said with a polite smile.

A baby's cry sounded from upstairs and Fleur turned to leave, but Bill placed a hand on her back.

"I'll get her," he offered, kissing her on the cheek. Hermione handed him the shoe and he smiled gratefully before leaving the room.

The conversations in the room resumed, and Fleur continued speaking with Draco and Hermione in French, inquiring all about how they met.

Ron remained sitting on the couch—with Claire—in silence the entire time.

After a few minutes, Arthur exited the kitchen. "Time to get going!" he announced.

They all filed out the door with the Teddy and Victoire in tow, making easy conversation with one another as they did so.

When they arrived at the stadium, Hermione was overcome with anxiety. She held Draco's hand with a vice-like grip, and he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand in soothing motions. Fleur was chattering with Draco nonstop. They were half way to their box seats when the first camera flashed.

"Just ignore them," Harry advised. "Pretend they're not there—that's what I do."

Whispers of _Hermione Granger_ seemed to travel through the crowd, and Hermione couldn't help but notice the shocked expressions of every person they passed.

"That's Hermione Granger!"

"It's Hermione Granger!"

"Is that…"

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Malfoy and Granger!"

"Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy!"

"Why, that's Hermione Granger!"

Draco's grip on her hand tightened as they climbed the set of stairs into their box, and then the curtain was closed behind them and they were given some sense of privacy.

"Alright, people," George announced. "Time to get our drink on!"

Hermione was passed a plastic cup of some kind of beer, and she frowned. "I don't even like beer," she muttered to Draco.

He shrugged. "I'll drink it for you," he offered.

She handed it over to him with a smile.

Then a whistle sounded and the game began.

_"WELCOME, WITCHES AND WIZARDS TO THE GAME OF THE SEASON!" _came the announcer. His voice rang through the stadium, greeted by the cheers of hundreds of fans.

_"WHAT A GAME WE HAVE TODAY! HOLYHEAD'S HOLYHEAD HARPIES…"_

More cheering.

_"AGAINST PUDDLEMERE UNITED!"_

"This is gonna be good!" Jordan exclaimed.

_"AND OUR TEAM CAPTAINS MEET FOR THE COIN TOSS! GWENOG JONES AND TAYLOR HEMINGWAY MEET ON THE FIELD! AND…IT LOOKS LIKE PUDDLEMERE WINS THE COIN TOSS! LET THE GAME BEGIN!"_

The game passed in a whirlwind—most of it lost on Hermione. Draco got very involved in the game, yelling and shouting and cheering along with everybody else. She watched for Ginny—who ended up playing very well, but had to sit out due to a foul—but the finer details of the game went over her head. She just didn't love Quidditch much. But she cheered and booed at all the right times and places and enjoyed spending time with her family and friends.

_"AND BENJY WILLIAMS CATCHES THE SNITCH, ENDING THE GAME! 150 POINTS GO TO PUDDLEMERE UNITED, BUT THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES STILL WIN BY TWENTY POINTS! THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES WIN 310 to 290!"_

The cheers were deafening. George and Jordan lost their minds, high fiving and hugging everyone—including Draco.

"Yay, Aunt Ginny!" Teddy cheered, jumping up and down, Victoire following suit.

"After party at my place!" George announced loudly. "Everyone's invited! Even you, Dad," he added, high fiving his father.

Arthur laughed loudly.

They waited in the box for Ginny, and when she finally arrived, they all cheered and hooted and hollered for her. She grinned, her face still flushed from the game. George and Jordan picked her up on their shoulders, twirling her around.

"Put me down!" she shrieked in laughter.

They obliged and Harry pulled her into a warm hug, spinning her in a circle and giving her a kiss.

"Alright you two," George said, separating them. "That's enough of that. This is a sports event! No room for romance! Party at my place! Bring all your friends! Let's go!"

They piled out of the box, laughing and talking about the game. But no sooner had the pulled back the curtain, then what seemed like a hundred flashing lights went off.

"Hermione!"

"Hermione Granger!"

"Is it true you're back from the dead?"

"Is it true that you're dating Draco Malfoy?"

"Miss Granger, what do you have to say about rumors that Draco Malfoy has been keeping you away from England for the last two years?"

"Mister Malfoy, any comment on your wrongful sentence for Hermione Granger's false case of murder?"

"Mister Malfoy!"

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione covered her eyes, blinded by the cameras, and Draco pulled her against him, trying to shield her from the press. Victoire started crying, covering her eyes, and Bill picked her up to hold her tightly against him.

"That's enough!" Harry yelled. "Get out of here, all of you!"

"Mister Potter, any comment on Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger's relationship?"

"Ron Weasley! What do you have to say about Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy's new romance?"

"Mister Potter, is it true you were hiding Hermione Granger away this entire time?"

"Mister Potter, is there any truth to rumors of a secret love affair between you and Hermione Granger?"

"I said, out of our way!" Harry shouted, sounding truly angry. _"Now!"_

They pushed through the crowd, George and Angelina flanking the sides of their group while Arthur and Ron took the rear and shoved the press away from them as they departed from the stadium. The flash of cameras followed them the whole way down the stairs, and they disapparated to the burrow as soon as they were off stadium grounds.

Hermione pulled Draco's arms around her and he held onto her tightly as they disapparated.

They arrived back at the Burrow to hear Harry shouting.

"_Who do they think they are?"_

"Did you hear their ridiculous accusations?" George laughed. "Honestly! Harry and Hermione? A secret romance?" He bent over in a fit of laughter.

Ginny was shaking her head. "It's despicable how they invade our privacy."

Hermione sighed in relief at the privacy of the Burrow once more.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked her, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I think I might be blind from all those lights, but yes. I'm fine. You?"

He nodded and smiled at her. "Couldn't be better."

"Are you guys okay?" Harry asked with a huff.

"We're fine, Harry—it's alright," she assured him.

"Next time we'll be getting a portkey," Harry announced. "No more of this! No more dealing with the bloody press!"

"Language!" Fleur chastised him, covering Victoire's ears.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered.

George clapped Harry on the back. "Well, it's over now. What do you say we go back to mine and celebrate?"

"Yes, we owe someone award money!" Jordan reminded them, holding up the green bag. The coins inside it jingled.

"Potter won," Draco announced with a smile. "Good guessing, Potter."

Harry smiled despite the fact that he looked exhausted from their encounter with the reporters. "I did, didn't I?"

"You placed a bet for ninety points?" Ginny asked him. "Only ninety?" She smacked his arm.

"Well I won though, didn't I?" he said with a laugh. "Mal—Draco bet on a hundred and ten points."

Ginny eyed Draco with a newfound appreciation, nodding at him. "Thanks, Draco."

He grinned, his arm still around Hermione. "You would've done it too, if that blasted Jocelind Wadcock hadn't feigned that ridiculous foul."

"I know!" Ginny exclaimed. "I had to sit out for a whole sixty minutes of the game! It was bullshit!"

"Ginny!" Bill barked. "Language!"

Ginny looked properly chastised as her eyes rested on Victoire. "Sorry!"

Victoire looked up at her father. "What does bullshit mean?"

Hermione's eyes widened.

"It's a bad word," Teddy explained. "You're not supposed to say bullshit."

"Children!" Fleur exclaimed, grabbing them both by the shoulders. "Inside, now!"

"Sorry!" Ginny called after them before turning back to the group, her face bright red.

The group all laughed at the exchange.

"You're going to be the best parents ever," Draco said to the Potters.

Ginny punched him in the shoulder. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"Last one to me and Angelina's is getting canary cream in their butterbeer!" George announced before disapparating.

There were several loud _pops_ as one by one, the group followed suit.

Draco turned to Hermione. "What on earth is canary cream?"

She sighed. "It's something he and Fred invented. It's just like it sounds—a cream that transforms you into a canary."

Draco's eyes widened in horror. "Then what the hell are you waiting for, Granger? Let's get over there! Hurry!"

With a roll of her eyes, she took his hand and they disapparated with a small _pop._

**I was too lazy to write out the sex scene. It's so difficult to write them! They're exhausting! Bah! If anyone wants to write sex scenes for me, let me know lol. Otherwise, it's up to your imagination!**


	54. Discussions and Jealousy

They arrived at George's to hear cheers and the sound of a cork popping out of a bottle. Draco and Hermione were promptly showered with champagne—to Hermione's dismay—along with the rest of the small crowd that had turned up in George and Angelina's apartment.

Despite Hermione's disgruntlement, Draco laughed freely, his mouth turned up in a happy, free smile, and Hermione couldn't help smiling herself once she saw it.

"To Ginny!" Lee Jordan cheered.

"Ginny!" the rest of them cheered in response.

The redhead in question grinned happily as she accepted a butterbeer from her husband.

"Want any butterbeer?" Draco asked Hermione, pulling her in for a kiss.

She nodded. "Please."

"I'll go grab you one," he said with a small squeeze of her arm.

Music started playing, and Hermione grinned, looking around. George had dressed up the apartment with green and yellow streamers—the team colors of the Holyhead Harpies. Soon enough everybody was laughing and shouting and even dancing.

Her eyes caught on Ron and Claire—who were standing across the room near the hallway, and they appeared to be arguing. Ron was shaking his head sullenly while Claire made dramatic motions with her hands.

Hermione frowned.

Finally, Ron threw his hands up and stormed out of the room, down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Claire looked as if she wanted to cry, and promptly dropped down on one of the black couches in the living room area.

She glanced around the room, looking for Draco. He was deep in conversation with George, who held two butterbeers in his hand. They were both laughing. Figuring he would be fine on his own for a few minutes, she slipped away and followed after Ron down the hallway.

"Ron?" she called, as the noise of the party faded behind her. There was one door open, casting light into the dark hallway. She entered the room. It was George's work room and office, and Ron sat dejectedly in the a very cushioned spinning chair. "Hey," she greeted as she approached him.

He glanced up at her. "What do you want?" he muttered.

She sat on the desk beside him, ignoring his attitude. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he responded, sitting back into the chair. "Go back to the party with your precious Death Eater."

She bristled. "Don't be like that. I came here to make sure you were okay. I saw you fighting with Claire. What happened? Are you two doing…alright?"

He sighed heavily as he rubbed his hand over his face. "I guess."

"You guess? What were you fighting about?"

"She's always on my case," he grumbled. "She's just really insecure sometimes."

"Is it because of Lavender?"

He looked up at her in surprise before frowning. "It's none of your business."

She shrugged. "Maybe not, but I'm your best friend, and I just am trying to look out for you. If you want to talk about it, I'm here."

He said nothing, just stared at the ground.

"How is she? Lavender, I mean? I hear she's living in isolation."

His shoulders seemed to sag even farther. He was silent for a moment before nodding sadly. "Yeah. She lives out on the moors. She never sees or talks to anyone."

"Because of her…affliction? Why not? She can still be a functional member of society, even if she is a werewolf. Look at Remus—he was a teacher at Hogwarts, for crying out loud."

He sat forward and put his face in his hands, rubbing his face again. "I know. That's what I tell her, but she won't listen."

"Have you seen her this month yet?"

He glanced up at her with a frown. "How do you know about that?"

She shrugged and offered him a small smile. "Ginny."

Ron rolled his eyes. "My sister is so nosy."

"Yes, but she's only that way because she cares. And so do I. Tell me what's going on."

Ron studied her for a moment as if trying to decide whether he wanted to discuss it or not. Finally, he caved. "I'm still in love with her."

"Oh, Ron," she sighed. "Then why are you dating another woman?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Because Lavender won't be with me."

"Why ever not?"

"She says she can't have a functional relationship with her…condition. She says it's hopeless. She wants me to get married and have children, and she says that's an impossible future for her."

"Because she's a werewolf?"

He nodded sullenly.

"Look at Teddy! His dad was a werewolf and he's perfectly fine. She can still have children—it doesn't matter if she is a werewolf."

"I know! I know, but she won't listen to me. I can't reason with her."

"But you still go out there every month anyway," she said with a small smile.

"I don't want her to be alone all the time. She gets really down after her transformation. I go out there to cheer her up—take care of her."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Are you cheating on Claire?"

Ron's eyes widened. "No! Merlin, no. No, I wouldn't do that." He shook his head. "Lav wouldn't give me the time of day anyhow. Romantically, I mean. She always tells me not to come back. I tell her I'll see her next month each time. It doesn't matter to me. I'll always take care of her."

Hermione's heart warmed at Ron's words. He was so kind and caring. She had forgotten how deeply he could love sometimes. She was glad Lavender had him.

"So what about Claire?"

"What about her?" Ron asked, tiredly.

"Are you just going to string her along while you pine for another woman?"

He took on a hopeless expression. "I'm not trying to. I do like Claire. She's sweet and she always cheers me up. I just…I'm just trying to move on. That's what Lav always tells me to do."

"I don't think it's fair to Claire," Hermione said quietly.

Ron looked at her sadly before nodding. "Probably not. But what else am I supposed to do?"

Hermione shrugged. "You could present Lavender with the facts. We could compile a report of the actual stats—the statistics of having a family and being a functional member of society. Lots of werewolves do it. We could even contact someone from the Werewolf Bureau and find her a support group of kinds. I doubt living in isolation has done much for her sense of hope."

The corner of Ron's lips turned up in a smile. "Research? You're proposing we do research. Of course you are," he said with a small laugh.

"Hey, it might work," she laughed.

He sighed. "I hadn't thought about getting her in touch with other werewolves."

Hermione nodded. "Let's get her a good support system. Reinstate her sense of hope. Then maybe she'll finally give you a chance." She smiled at him.

His eyes lit up and he nodded. "Alright."

"But in the mean time…you should probably break up with Claire."

He grimaced. "Yeah, you're right…"

"It's just not fair to her, you know?"

"I know." He paused for a moment before looking up at her and smiling. "Thanks, Hermione. I forgot what a good friend you are."

She laughed. "Oh, thanks."

"No, I just meant that—I forgot how you're always trying to help people. It's been so long."

"Yeah it has," she said with a nod.

"I really am sorry for how I treated you after we broke up."

"Thank you."

"I was just really bitter about it."

She laughed again. "I could tell."

"It's only because I knew you were right. We didn't…it just didn't work between us, you know?"

"I do know."

He bit his cheek as if he wanted to say something.

She rolled her eyes, dropping down from the desk back onto her feet. "Go ahead, say it. What?"

"It's just…_Malfoy? Really?"_

"Draco is a really lovely man, Ron. I wish you'd give him the chance to prove it to you."

His nose wrinkled up in disgust. "How can you trust him?"

"Because he's earned it. You know, he has a hard enough life right now without you making it even more difficult for him. I wish you'd just let yourself see past your bias and get to know him. He's a new man, Ron. And more importantly, he makes me very happy. That alone should be reason for you to give him a chance. Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Of course I do," he said, leaning forward. "That's why I don't like him! Because I think you deserve better, Mione. You deserve the whole world. You deserve the best man there is on this planet. I don't think _anyone_ can measure up to you!"

She laughed. "That's very sweet. But the man I want to fill that roll is _Draco._ You have to accept that."

He frowned. "I guess."

"No, you do."

He sighed. "And what if he's lying about everything? What if he's playing you? What then?"

"Then I'll kick his arse," Hermione laughed. "And I'll formally invite you to join in, if that makes you feel any better. But you're not even giving him a chance to prove you wrong!"

"He's so annoying though," he grumbled.

She nodded with a smile. "He is a little bit annoying at times, yes. But nobody's perfect," she chuckled. "Although in my opinion, he comes pretty close."

"Ugh," he said, rolling his eyes.

"All I'm asking is that you treat him civilly and stop pouting all the time."

He made a noncommittal sound.

She folded her arms and gave him a stern look. "You know, some people would say that you shouldn't date Lavender. You probably shouldn't have anything to do with her. Her kind is dangerous."

His sulky frown immediately turned angry. "She's not dangerous!" he insisted.

"Werewolves have a history of being dangerous creatures," she told him. "They attack others and oftentimes spread the infection. You could get hurt."

He shook his head, his frown deepening further. "Lavender's not like that. She keeps her condition under control. She would never hurt anyone! She's not like that!"

"Says you," she told him in a tone that sounded unconvinced.

He looked incredibly insulted. "You don't even know her, Hermione! She's kind and she's loving and she's generous. You don't know her! She's not like she was in Hogwarts. She's a different person now, she's grown up. She's very responsible, and she's—" His eyes widened. "Oh."

She grinned victoriously, looking very much like the cat that got the canary. "Yes-oh."

He sank further into his seat. "Damn. I hate it when you do that."

"Use your own argument against you, you mean?"

He huffed. "Maybe you should have been in Slytherin," he grumbled.

She sighed victoriously.

"Fine," he said. "Fine. I'm still not happy about it, mind you. But we'll see if you're right about him or not."

She arched an eyebrow. "Good. And I want you to be nice to him."

"Fine, but if he calls me Weasel again, I'm going to punch him in the face."

"He won't call you that if you treat him like a human being. For godsakes, we're all adults. It's time to act like it."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Why don't you come join us back at the party?"

He made a pouty face. "Alright."

She held out a hand and when he accepted it, she pulled him up. She began to walk away, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"Mione?"

"Yes?"

He smiled. "Thanks. I really did miss you. I'm glad you're safe and that you're here. I love you." He pushed a stray curl behind her ear and she smiled.

"I missed you too, Ron, and I love you, too." She pulled him into a hug.

He hugged her back and sighed, then released her and smiled.

"Come on, let's get back out there before Draco comes looking for—" she turned towards the door and jumped to see Draco leaning in the doorway with a thoughtful expression on his face and a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Malfoy!" Ron said, sounding as startled as Hermione felt.

"Weasley," he drawled, sounding the name out slowly.

Ron frowned at him as if he was confused before glancing back at Hermione. "It…er…I'll just…go…" He tried to walk past Draco, but Draco was taking up most of the doorway. Ron ended up leaning up against the opposite doorframe to squeeze past the blonde, who remained still, not making it easy for the redhead to pass, and not taking his eyes off Hermione.

Hermione shook her head as Ron disappeared down the hall. "Really? Was that really necessary?" she asked with a wry smile.

"Just making sure he knows where I stand." He eyed her carefully. "Looks like you and Weasley were having a rather…serious discussion."

She scoffed. "Jealous, are you? Please. That is so unnecessary."

He approached her slowly, his expression guarded. "I hope so."

"Draco Malfoy, you _are _jealous, aren't you? Oh my god!" she grinned.

He grabbed her tightly by the waist and pulled her against him, his eyes glinting playfully. "I'm allowed to get jealous sometimes. Especially when I walk in to you and your ex boyfriend saying you love one another."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You know it wasn't like that."

He brushed his nose against hers. "I know nothing."

"There's something I never thought I would hear," she teased.

He kissed her forcefully. She kissed him right back, feeling her stomach flutter.

He moved them backwards until she was pressed up against George's desk, and he lifted her up onto it, pulling her flush against him. She gasped at the sudden arousal that washed through her.

He wasn't smiling, and his demeanor felt dangerous, but she couldn't quite tell if he was angry or not—which only served to turn her on further.

"Feeling possessive, are we?" she teased, her eyes fluttering closed as he brushed his lips against her neck.

"I've been known to have my moments," he whispered.

Her breathing faltered. Merlin's beard, how could she be so aroused by such a primitive idea as jealousy?

"You have…" she swallowed. "Nothing to worry about."

"I know," he whispered as his lips grazed her ear.

She shivered. "You're the only one I want," she whispered.

He gripped her thighs and pulled her hard against him. She could feel his arousal through their clothes, and her heartbeat increased.

"Tell me more," he breathed.

She could orgasm from his voice alone. "I only want you, Draco," she told him. "I love you, I adore you, you're the only man I want."

"You want me?" he asked, pressing soft kisses along her jaw.

Her breath hitched. "Yes," she gasped. And it was true. "Yes, I want you. I always want you."

He pulled her harder against him and a soft moan escaped her lips. She waved her hand and the door slammed closed before locking.

"Did you just…perform wandless magic so we could shag in somebody else's house?" Draco asked in amusement, his breath tickling her skin. "Merlin, that's sexy."

She grabbed his face and kissed him hard. "Shut up and kiss me," she said, her eyes still closed.

And he did.

**Spoiler: Pranks up ahead in the next chapter! ;)**


	55. Research

Ten or so minutes later, Hermione led a smirking Draco by the hand back to the living room with a giddy smile on her face. Fortunately, no one commented on their disappearance, and Hermione took a moment to be grateful she was saved the mortification of being teased. Ginny did glance at her with a knowing grin on her face, raising her eyebrows in accusation, but Hermione quickly averted her gaze as they made their way to the fridge to get butterbeers.

"Drakey!" George exclaimed, opening the fridge and grabbing them drinks. "Did you find Mione after all?"

"I did," he said with a glint in his eye.

George glanced between Draco and Hermione, and Hermione quickly looked away. George simply shrugged and handed them both butterbeers. "Cheers, mate. I'm gonna go find Lee."

Draco handed her her drink and she clinked it against his. Angelina waved them over and they rejoined the crowd once more.

It wasn't a few seconds of conversation later that Hermione noticed George and Lee Jordan watching them very closely, looking far too eager to make her comfortable.

She leaned over. "Angelina, why are they—"

_Crash._

The sound of shattering glass made Hermione turn—Draco was gone, and there was a broken bottle of butterbeer on the floor beside her. Suddenly she was aware of chirping. She looked around in a panic to see a tiny yellow fluffy canary fluttering above their heads.

George and Lee were clapping, cheering, and pointing as Hermione's jaw dropped in horror.

"_GEORGE FABIAN WEASLEY!" _she shouted, enraged. _"I TOLD YOU NO PRANKS!"_

George's grin faltered considerably from across the room.

Angelina laughed and shook her head. "It's okay, Hermione. It wears off after thirty seconds. It's not so bad."

Hermione watched the confused little bird fluttering haplessly around the room, taking steps to follow after poor airborne Draco.

Harry shook his head, trying to cover the grin on his face as she passed him. Ron laughed openly, bending over and resting his hands on his knees to support himself.

"Watch out!" Hermione called as someone swatted at Draco as he flew around their face. _"GEORGE! I'm going to kill you!"_ she threatened.

Sure enough, after thirty seconds, Draco reappeared, grounded, on all fours.

"Draco!" she called, approaching him. She put her hands on his shoulders as he rose to his knees. "Are you okay?"

His gray eyes were wide and crazy and his breaths were fast and light. He swallowed. "Granger…I was…I was a bird."

She sighed, helping him to his feet. "It was George! I'm going to kill that man!"

He shook his head. "No, it's okay. I'm fine. I just—" He shivered. "Merlin, I hate being turned into animals…"

"It can't have been as bad as that time you got turned into a ferret," George laughed, coming up beside them.

Hermione immediately launched herself into a series of punches on any surface of George's body she could find.

"Mione!" he protested, taking steps backwards with each blow. "Ow! Ouch! Merlin's bea—OUCH! Mione, I'm sorry! Stop—gah! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Draco pulled Hermione back off of George. "Granger, it's fine, it's fine. It was a harmless prank," he assured her.

"Harmless! George! I told you Draco was off limits!" she harped, pointing a menacing finger at him. "No pranking him! That was mean!"

George rubbed his chest with a cringe. "It wasn't personal, Mione! I did say last person here was getting canary cream in their butterbeers! I issued fair warning!"

"We were _both_ here last, you dimwit! So why are you picking on Draco?"

"I wasn't picking on Drakey! I would never do that!" George insisted. "I…I mean, there's canary cream in your butterbeer too, you just didn't drink enough of it!"

Hermione went terrifyingly still. "You tried to prank me?"

George's eyes widened in fear, glancing between Hermione and Draco before he promptly bolted.

Hermione attempted to chase after him, but Ginny appeared by her side and pulled her back. "Mione!" she laughed, looping her arm around the girl's shoulders. "It's just fun. Come on! Give George a break. Draco is okay. Right?"

Draco nodded with wide eyes. "Fun," he repeated. "Yeah."

"He tried to prank me!" Hermione shrieked.

Ginny took the butterbeer from her hand. "It didn't work, and I can guarantee you he won't be trying it again. Come on, I'll get you a new drink." She shook her head with a smile, offering Draco a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"That was…quite the experience," Draco said. "Did you see me, Granger? I was flying!"

Hermione still stewed over George's audacity. "I can't believe he did that."

"I can't believe he tried to get you, too. I'd think George was smarter than that."

"I'll get him back later," Hermione promised. "You sure you're alright?" she asked, touching his cheek.

He pulled back, removing her hand from his cheek and holding it in his. "Yes, I'm sure," he said offering her a smile. "Just…I'm just never going to drink anything around George again. You've got to admit though—he's kind of a genius," he marveled.

Hermione blinked, finding herself smiling in spite of herself. "I suppose he is," she said with a roll of her eyes. "But that genius has another thing coming."

"Well, you're part of the club now," Harry said as he approached them, laughing.

"Part of the club?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, you've been pranked by George—who here hasn't? Besides Hermione, but that's because she's terrifying."

Ginny reappeared with new butterbeers for both of them. "Here you go, guys. They're sealed—no canary cream."

Hermione accepted hers with narrowed eyes.

Draco eyed the bottle in Ginny's hand with apprehension. "You know what? No thanks. I think I'm good, actually."

They all laughed at that.

It took some convincing, but Hermione convinced Draco to come stay with them at Grimmauld Place for the remainder of the week. He checked out of the hotel, and Hermione apparated them back to the house to find Harry carrying a belligerently drunk Ginny upstairs over his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Hermione!" she called. "Goodnight Draco! I love you both! I love everybody! You guys are so important to me! Even you, Draco!" She sighed. "You know, I really like you, Draco. You're alright."

Draco laughed. "Thanks, Red. You're alright, too."

Hermione shook her head at Ginny's antics.

"Goodnight, you two," Harry called from the top of the stairs.

"I'm a good Quidditch player," Ginny sighed aloud to herself.

There was a scandalized shriek of _Harry!_ Followed by Ginny's giggles before the bedroom door slammed shut and the house went quiet once more.

Hermione let out a laugh. "I don't think I've ever seen Ginny that drunk before."

"Well she won two galleons in that drinking contest against Lee Jordan, so I can't say I'm surprised," Draco commented.

They walked up the stairs together and into their room.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she stepped out of her flats and began to unbutton her jeans.

Draco eyed her hungrily. "I'm feeling like we should finish what we started earlier," he said with a smirk.

She laughed, removing her jacket and throwing it on the bed. "I remember finishing exactly what we began earlier. I believe there was a desk involved—we had to pick up all the stuff that was knocked _off_ the desk, remember?"

He sauntered towards her as she took off her shirt. "How about round two?"

She grinned. "Come and get me," she teased, throwing her shirt at him. He caught it with one hand before letting it drop to the floor. He followed after her with a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his face.

The next day, Hermione sat at the kitchen table with her hands around a hot cup of tea and a thoughtful expression on her face.

"I miss coffee," Draco complained as he entered the kitchen. "Why on earth don't the Potters have a coffee machine? We need to rectify this immediately."

Hermione smiled. "Go get one then."

"No outlets here," he sighed, as he poured himself a cup of tea and sat beside her. "That'll be the first piece of muggle technology I intend to modify," he decided.

She laughed. "You can always get a French Press."

"I think I just might, honestly." He took a drink of his tea.

"I need to go to the Ministry today," she told him.

He cast her a curious look. "Why?"

"I'm in search of some werewolves."

His curious expression deepened, his eyebrows rising even further up his forehead. "Again, _why?_"

"For Lavender."

"Lavender Brown?" He yawned. "The girl Weasley is so fond of?"

She nodded. "Last night he said the only reason he's dating Claire is to try and get over Lavender."

Draco snorted.

"But Lavender won't date him," she continued, ignoring his rude outburst, "because she doesn't think she's good for him. She doesn't think she can give him a future because she's a werewolf."

"So why are you wanting to track down other werewolves? Are you going to find her a new werewolf boyfriend?"

She scoffed. "No, I'm hoping I can find some kind of support group."

"Support group? Granger, they're werewolves, not alcoholics."

"Everyone needs support; everyone needs to know they're not alone in their difficulties. I'm sure they have some kind of…some kind of…"

"Werewolves Anonymous?" he suggested with a wry smile on his face.

She rolled her eyes, fighting the smile that came to her face unbidden. "You're not helping."

"I'm trying to make you laugh—that's always helpful."

She reached over and kissed his cheek.

"Score," he whispered before taking a sip of tea.

She chuckled. "Want to come with me?"

"To the ministry? No, I most certainly don't. I mean, I will if you want me to, but no, I definitely do not wish to go there." He pressed his leg against hers under the table.

"Why don't you go pick up a French press, and I'll drop by the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and see if I can find someone to help me?"

He nodded. "Sounds good to me. Meet me for lunch after?"

She smiled. "Where?"

He narrowed his eyes, looking thoughtful. "There's a muggle place not too far from the Ministry. It's called Cocao Leaf Lunchroom. Ever heard of it?"

She shook her head. "No, but I can find it. I'll pick up some more Calming Drought while I'm at it."

"What for?"

"For you," she said, kissing his cheek again and rising from the table. "I know you were hurting last night—you were tossing and turning quite a bit."

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at his mug, saying nothing.

"What time should we have lunch?" she asked, changing the subject. She knew he felt uncomfortable whenever she brought up the side effects of his rapidly degenerating binding.

"Let's plan on two. I know how you get caught up in your research," he said with a soft smile.

She smiled back at him before placing her empty cup in the sink. "Sounds good to me."

And get caught up in her research, she did. By the time one in the afternoon arrived, she was thoroughly frustrated with her lack of results. The Werewolf Registry of the Beast Department (what a terrible name) was largely unhelpful. She understood and was grateful for the fact that the names of registered werewolves were sealed and private, but how was she supposed to help Lavender if no one was willing to give her information? She was very disappointed to learn that there was no such support group in Britain—in fact it was highly discouraged for werewolves to associate with one another. It was even illegal for groups of more than three werewolves to congregate in the same place! She understood very well the bigotry and neglect that ran rampant through Britain in the case of magical creatures—werewolves and house elves alike, and more—but she had hoped that there was at least someone who tried to reach out to people like Lavender. She went to several different departments, left several messages with different people, and even arranged meetings for later that week before deciding to go to the Ministry's Library to do some reading on Werewolves.

Suddenly it was 1:45, and she had no idea where the time had gone. She quickly returned her books—with the exception of one about Magical Bindings, which she checked out and took with her for later—so she could stop by the apothecary to retrieve a few Calming Droughts before she had to meet Draco for lunch.

She had just exited the Library when an unfamiliar woman in sky blue robes approached her, standing directly in her way. Her dark brown eyes sparkled.

Hermione frowned. "Can I help you?" she asked.

The caramel-skinned woman smiled and nodded, the bright white feather in her tightly braided black hair bouncing as she did so. "Hermione Granger," she greeted, holding out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Hermione blinked, shaking the woman's hand with some hesitancy. "And you are…?"

"Ramona Garret," the woman introduced herself. "I work for the Prophet."

Hermione groaned internally. "Well it was nice to meet you Ramona, but I'm really very busy and I—"

"I was just hoping I could get a statement from you."

"I'm not interested in speaking to the press, I'm sorry," she said as she stepped around the woman and continued on her way. Damn it. She'd neglected her disguise before leaving—she obviously couldn't enter the Ministry under a disguise—but now she wished she had been able to retain the anonymity of Joan Spinner.

The woman jogged to catch up with her. "I'm sorry to bother you, Miss Granger, I really am, but it's kind of my job."

"You should get a new job then," Hermione mumbled under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Ramona, please. I really am busy. I have places to be. I don't have time for this."

"Then let's set up a time!" The spritely woman suggested, keeping up with Hermione's quick strides. "I don't want to bother you, but I would really appreciate some kind of statement. Maybe an interview?" she said hopefully.

"I prefer to keep the details of my life private," she told the woman as they walked. "I have no interest in an interview with anyone."

"Just a statement—just one little statement then, please. Regarding Draco Malfoy."

Hermione sighed. "I have no statement to make regarding Draco Malfoy," she told the woman very clearly.

"Don't you want people to stop snooping? Stop bothering you? Stop spreading rumors? Have you read the articles they're publishing about you guys this week?"

"No, I haven't. I care very little for what others think or say about my life."

"But if you just tell us what's going on—"

"What? It'll stop? They'll stop asking questions, stop prying? We both know that's not how it works."

The woman sighed. "Are you and Draco Malfoy engaged in a romantic relationship?"

"Ramona, please. I don't want to do this, okay? It was lovely to meet you, but I have to go. Goodbye."

They had reached the exit, and Hermione quickly left the building, leaving a very disappointed reporter behind.

After lunch, Hermione owled Ron and invited him over to Harry's after work. When Ron flooed in at six o'clock, Draco was sitting at the kitchen table doing paperwork. He had spent the time between lunch until twenty minutes ago at an internet café working and cursing the lack of access to the internet at Grimmauld Place.

"Err…hi," Ron greeted weakly.

Draco looked up at Ron, expressionless.

"I'm looking for Hermione," Ron explained.

"In the study," Draco said stiffly before turning back to his work.

Ron frowned but turned and made his way down the hallway. "Your boyfriend is really rude," he said by way of greeting as he entered the study.

Hermione looked up from the files and books around her. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, her curls and flyaways everywhere and she had a pen sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking in her state.

She pulled the pen out of her mouth. "Hello, Ron," she greeted with a smile. "I've been doing research all day."

He frowned. "About what?"

"Werewolves. They don't have any kind of support group for werewolves—do you know that? They highly discourage any kind of contact between werewolves. It's illegal for more than three to congregate at once! They don't want them forming packs and withdrawing from society. Can you believe that? They're people too! They're treating them like second-class citizens—no, not even that—like animals! Just because they transform monthly against their will doesn't mean—"

Ron blinked. "You're doing research for Lavender?"

She nodded with a sigh. "Your trip to visit her is coming up, isn't it? Next week is a full moon. I'm assuming Claire isn't happy about that."

"I actually broke up with Claire last night. That's why we left the party kind of early." He sank into the cushioned chair nearby. "It just wasn't fair to her—you were right. You always are," he grumbled.

She smiled. "Did you say something about Draco?"

"Oh, he was just…kind of rude earlier," he said, pointing his thumb towards the kitchen.

"He gets frustrated when he's working sometimes. I think he might be a little irritated with me for making him come here instead of staying at the hotel. There's no internet here, which makes his job harder. I didn't even consider that until today."

Ron's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What's internet?"

Hermione opened her mouth and faltered. How does one explain internet? "…It's a muggle thing. He needs it for his job. Anyway, I'm sorry you had to break up with Claire. Are you doing okay?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Long day at work. Linda was glaring at me all day. She's Claire's sister," he explained.

Hermione made a face. "That won't go over well."

"No, not at all. She's definitely not going to accept any late paperwork now."

"Ron, your paperwork shouldn't be late anyway," she admonished.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah… So what are you wanting to do? With this?" he motioned towards the papers and books scattered about the floor.

She began sorting them into piles. "I'm hoping I can find someone for Lavender to connect with. Remus was the only functional werewolf I know of—but there's got to be more. Maybe if we can find her someone to show her that she can still have a life, even though she has this…affliction…then she'll give you a chance and move on with her life."

"You think so?" he asked, perking up considerably.

"I do. I mean, it sounds like she just wants to save you from her, right? There's no need for that."

He shook his head vehemently. "I don't care if she's a werewolf or not."

Hermione was impressed. Ron had been known to see the world in black and white—no gray. He made snap judgments a lot of the time, and although he didn't care about blood supremacy, he had always been hesitant to trust people who were different—especially magical creatures. He had been guilty of a lot of bias that was common in the magical folk of Britain, and she was relieved that he was able to see past that bias for Lavender.

"You know there's always a chance that if you and Lavender have children, they could be werewolves," she said quietly. "It doesn't happen often, but it does occur. I've been reading up on it."

He shook his head. "If that happens, then we can just deal with it together—the same way we deal with her transformations. I'd just be happy to marry her and have a family," he said softly.

She smiled.

"I bought her a ring, you know."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What? When?"

He shrugged. "Almost a year ago. I started seeing her again after you and I broke up—as much as she'd let me, anyway. And we got really close. I spent most of my time out there with her."

"Nobody told me anything about this."

"I don't think anybody knew. I haven't talked about it. It made me too upset. I'm glad I told you, though. Especially since you're helping me."

"Did you propose?"

"I was about to. Started talking about marriage and stuff, but she shot me down. That was when she told me not to come by anymore. Said I should start dating other people, and eventually said not to come by more than once in a while. Then I only saw her for a few days once a month—after the full moon was over. And I started dating Claire."

Hermione didn't know what to say.

"But we'll figure it out, right? We'll get her help?"

"Of course we will," she said with a smile.

Suddenly there was a loud crash from the kitchen. Hermione jumped, looking at Ron in alarm.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Draco," she gasped, racing to her feet and running out the door. She rounded the corner and burst into the kitchen.

Draco was writhing on the floor beside an overturned chair, his eyes rolled up into his head as his body jerked in rigid movements.

"Draco!" she screamed, dropping to her knees and reaching forward to cradle his head from the floor. There was a _zap_ and she flinched backwards at the shock that went through her when she touched him.

"What's wrong with him?" Ron asked, panic obvious in his voice. "Hermione…the lights."

The lights in the room were humming and flickering, and both Hermione and Ron stared at them. Finally they whistled and sparked and went out completely. The room dimmed considerably, and Ron cast a_ lumos._

Draco continued writhing before her, and tears came to Hermione's eyes. She snapped into medic mode, rising to her feet.

"Ron, I need you to go to St. Mungo's and get Bridget Halloway," she instructed, her voice shaking. She ran to the cupboards, searching for a kitchen towel. She opened all the drawers until she found one. "Are you listening to me?" she asked Ron, who was watching Draco in horror.

"Yeah, Bridget Halloway," he repeated.

"Tell her there's something wrong with Draco's binding and that she needs to come right away! Immediately! If you can't find her, just get someone! Tell them it's about magical binding, and he can't be moved. Go! Now! Hurry!"

He ran out of the kitchen towards the floo, the door swinging open and shut behind him.

She kicked into gear, grabbing three towels. She put on the rubber oven mitts hanging on the wall and used them to put towels under his head. Once his head was cushioned, she ran back to the study to retrieve her purse. She grabbed it and sprinted back to the kitchen. She pulled out the calming drought. She unstopped the bottle and reached under the towels to lift his shaking head up. She began to administer small amounts of the drought into his mouth, knowing it would settle his muscles, which were obviously spasming. Most of the potion spilled out of his mouth, but she kept trying. Finally she set the bottle down, picking up the oven mitts and using them to turn him onto his side so he didn't choke on his own spit.

When his spasms began to lessen in frequency and his eyes closed, she sat back on her heels and bit back tears as she tried to focus and think.

She'd read about bindings. She'd been looking into it—she'd even checked out a book from the library today. She had read through some of it right after lunch, because Draco had obviously been in a lot of pain today while they ate, and it had bothered her. The book she had found was merely an account of bindings throughout history. There was no information about actual binding and unbinding process—it was a very secretive process. It didn't help her at all in how to deal with what was happening.

She thought back on the behaviors he had demonstrated that afternoon and when he had gotten home half an hour ago.

He'd rubbed his chest a lot. He'd been bending his elbow a few times, and rolled his shoulders. He had mentioned a pounding headache, but played it off as stress from work.

But the zapping when she touched him—that was something new. She'd only found one piece of information possibly related to that in her reading. In one case documented back in 1694, a witch had burned from the inside out, eight years after having her magic bound. They had concluded that something with the binding went wrong and too much of her magic had gathered within her body, frying her.

Was this happening to Draco? She reached forward to touch him again—_zap._

She instinctively pulled back at the shock. He was now twitching and spasming less often, and she wasn't sure if that should concern her further or not.

She thought about Muggle electricity, and how it conducted. This was similar to that in the way that those rubber oven mitts prevented her from being shocked when she touched him.

But Magic was not Muggle electricity.

A solution came to her. It was a stab in the dark, really. She wasn't sure whether it would help or not, but as she watched the man she loved start to choke on his own spit, she decided it was worth a try.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and placed both hands on his body, taking a hold of his arm and shoulder. She gasped as a burning power burst through her. She cried out, feeling like her hands were on fire. It hurt—it hurt everything. From the tips of her palms to every nerve ending in the rest of her body, it burned. It felt like white-hot fire was running through her veins.

She screamed, but she didn't let go.

She didn't for the life of her dare to let go.

**I am so sorry for the cliff hanger, really I am. So sorry. Please don't hate me! I promise I will update more very soon! Love you guys!**


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